


Pandemonium

by orphan_account



Series: Quietude [1]
Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternative Universe - FBI, F/M, Forgive my numerous inaccuracies, M/M, Mass post
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-18 06:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2339018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FBI agents Alexander Lightwood and Magnus Bane travel to New York City to help uncover the truth behind a chain of homicides.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, all!
> 
> I'm moving this fic over from ff and have every intention of finishing it.
> 
> We'll see how that goes with classes.
> 
> Constructive crit is wonderful and brings steadier (and better) updates.
> 
> Just a blanket warning for the fic: There will be some blood, but considering it's coming from TMI, it shouldn't be too shocking. Still, I feel it a bit necessary to point that out.
> 
> Onward, my lovelies!

Alec huffs over the coffee in his hands. The steam wisps and swirls up from the mug between his fingers; it warms them. It's too early for this. Much, much too early. Yet he finds himself there at the station, the sun barely over the horizon, and… Crap, he forgot to brush his hair again. He sighs, pleased that he arrived a day earlier than his partner so he can't nag at him or faun. The agent peels one of his pleasantly warmed hands from the heated ceramic and pushes it through his hair, hoping to tame it some. The action is in vain and causes him to lose some precious warmth. His hair pokes out randomly yet, and it did very little but make it worse.

He won't give another half-hearted attempt to tame his unruly locks, so he flicks his blue eyes over to the door – one that should open to reveal an increasingly late officer to explain the details of this case. So far Alec could have slept in fifteen more minutes and contemplates a nap as he waits.

Yet the redolence of the sweet elixir before him keeps him conscious; it's something worth staying awake for. So he takes a sip, a long, warm sip that injects energy into his veins.

That person best bring more coffee when he arrives if he desires to keep his head.

Alec was called into the godforsaken city of New York a day ago and, quite the nomad that he is, was able to hop on the next flight (yet his partner has "obligations" to attend to, so he'll arrive the next day). Several hours later he landed, found himself a hotel, and was forced awake at the ungodly hour of five o'clock. Yet from what he gathered of the case from what they'd been given, there are a few linked homicides with little evidence. And the details are gruesome, but he didn't see any of the pictures yet - he will soon enough.

The door clicks open, forcing Alec's attention from his thoughts and coffee to the newcomer. A small smile tugs at his lips as a familiar figure emerges; maybe the person's identity is enough to save him. Maybe.

"Jace," he recollects, nostalgia washing over him. "I didn't think this was glamorous enough work for you."

The man scoffs, yet a grin is apparent. "Saving people, patrolling the streets, I'm practically a hero!"

"And yet you need help with this case." Alec takes another sip of his coffee, which is doing its magic alongside his old friend's presence.

Jace sighs and drops a rather thick file on the table between them, plops down in a chair. "Unfortunately. I could have handled this all on my own, but _nooooo_. The superiors feel it's better to get some _agents_ involved."

Alec snorts, clearly amused. "If only you were a bit more brain and a bit less brawn."

"Hey!" Jace narrows his eyes at him and flips the file open to the first page. "Watch your mouth. Anyway, we have three deaths so far."

Alec raises a brow. "Three?"

He is silenced further from a pointed look from Jace. "They were all found in their homes, but you should look at them. Here's the first victim - a woman by the name of Victoria."

A photo after another is shoved across the table toward Alec, who takes each one and studies the pictures. If there were times he's happy he's never awake enough for breakfast in the morning, now is one of those moments. Even after coming in contact with numerous bodies or photos thereof, he still has a limit. These push it, so he tries to look at them as quickly as possible.

Alec wishes that Victoria had been dead before the killer began his work on her body, although he doubts that's true. Her legs are twisted in unnatural directions, yet the skin there appears to be intact. Although there's blood, and lots of it; he presumes it came from her back. There he notices a sign – it's hard to miss - that encompasses its entirety. Much of it is blotted out, thanks to the sheer amount of blood that had oozed from the injury, but there's an extra, clearer picture of the mark. How Alec can describe it, he doesn't know.

The lines swirl together, loop, and he swears there's a sideways "A" in there. Maybe a "D" of some sort. Whatever it is, and no matter how macabre it may be, it's masterful and intricate work. He blinks at it, cataloging the symbol.

"I'm assuming this is on the other victims?"

"On both the second and the third, yes." Alec hears the ruffling of sheets as Jace procures two more images.

"Although with the second victim, William, it's on his torso." The poor man's death is just as horrific as Victoria's. "And Camille's is also on her back."

Alec blinks between the three. The same engraving, and a link that even an elementary school student can conclude. Yet it's something, and Alec will have to see if he can research the symbol.

"What else do you have?"

"Their deaths range within the past month. The first body was discovered on January thirtieth, the second February eighth, and the last one February nineteenth." Jace counts them off on his fingers, and then sighs. "And then my superiors _insisted_ on calling in some help."

Alec snorts and shakes his head slightly. He knows Jace is capable, yes, and perhaps best in the city, but he's probably too confident for his own good. Or he's giving Alec a hard time. Sometimes it's hard tell even after all those years.

"What do you have for witness accounts?"

"Very little," Jace speaks after a moment. "The killer gets in and out with so much as a knocked-over vase. No one has seen anything or given us anything of use."

Alec bites at his lower lip, nods. He'll have to look at the case file and study it, he knows that, but that's limiting. Unless…

"Security footage?" He's hopeful…

… Until Jace mercilessly crushes his dreams. "Nothing."

It's Alec's turn to sigh as he arranges the pictures into a neat pile and face down. If he were to get enough coffee, he can probably start on reading through the file later on that morning (god knows how much of it is left). It'll be a substantial start, and then he can subsequently and accordingly plan their course of action.

* * *

Alec was granted the room to sprawl out in, the mug freshly filled and steaming away. After consuming another between his initial coffee and the one waiting on his table, he's ready to start analyzing the file.

His blue eyes scan crime scene images, notes, documents, the information that the file allows him. The three victims, ranging in age from 27 to 54, no consistent gender, all rather well-off and well-known enough, identical deaths, the mysterious mark. Alec pushes the document in his hand - the notes of a family member - before moving on to the next one. No enemy in common.

Yet he isn't deterred; it's still the first day, and he's still in the process of exploring the case. There is still so much to learn and piece together.

At this point, however, Alec is certain that they aren't random; there was too much work being put into them. That symbol, that painful symbol nags at him and tugs him toward that conclusion. Why would someone use something that complex if it were for the thrill of killing? No, it's much too meticulous. Not to mention the already well-known lack of a trace.

As much as Alec hates it, he will probably need to examine a crime scene, and none of the three have one left. That means there would have to be a fourth. He pinches his nose, scrunches his eyes shut. He'll just have to keep reading and stop getting ahead of himself. He'll have to return to the file and see what else he can pick out, see what he can do, who he can talk to, and hope his partner will arrive at a reasonable time the next day, and they will solve this with little to no hassle.

Although he knew that isn't how it works.

Alec sighs, takes another sip of his coffee, and begins a list. He'll have to take the sign by some anthropology professor who can either tell him what it is or point him in a direction that can, he'll have to talk to forensics about whatever they may have, he'll have to talk to witnesses again because there are some answers that aren't quite clear, and there. He's smoothing out the path ahead of him.

So, with the coffee now between his hands once again, he returns his eyes to the sea of text and sheets.

* * *

That night Alec sinks into his bead, mind buzzing with information, with possible connections, with the case. When he closes his eyes, images from the file flashed before them. They'll likely keep him up for a little bit – not that he doesn't mind. It's something that'll serve as a background noise even during his downtime.

And it'll allow him something to occupy his mind for whenever his sister hears he's in town. She'll likely blow a gasket – that Alec knows – but she'll quickly forgive him. It isn't that he doesn't like Isabelle, he adores his sister dearly, but he _knows_ certain inevitable topics she'll try to discuss and the places she'll drag him to.

And she knows the biggest clubs in New York.

And he knows his partner will be ecstatic to return to some familiar ones.

And that isn't his scene.

Things happen there all the time he prefers to not know about, and there are far too many people. They're sweaty, panty, writhing, undiscerning, varying levels of drunk, and they render him uncomfortable.

But, even with the clock reading precisely 12:03 am, his cellphone blares on the nightstand. He groans and rolls over. The cursed object lays on the surface, dancing and singing away merrily as he glares. Whoever's calling at such an hour and interrupting his attempt at sleep and thoughts better have a good reason.

So he gropes the nightstand for the phone, not even giving a triumphant "ah ha!" as his hand falls on it. Instead, Alec unceremoniously snaps the phone open and presses the outdated device to his ear.

"Alexander Lightwood."

He doesn't make an attempt to cover the sleep that leaks into his voice. Serves the caller right.

"Alexander Lightwood, you'd better explain to me why you didn't tell me you were in New York!"

Speak of the devil.

Alec sighs and refrains from smothering himself with his pillow. "Sorry. I'll make sure to let you know next time. It was last minute, and I just got here –"

He knows that isn't entirely true, it burns on his face (luckily it's just a phone call), yet unfortunately she seems to already know.

"You're such a horrible liar. I know why you didn't call, and don't think this is letting you off the hook. Let's call this networking."

Alec raises a brow despite the fact that she can't see. "Networking? I'm an agent who has a fairly good reputation. I don't think I need to network much."

A laugh on the other end of the line cackles away. "A little more never hurt anyone, or how about sister-brother bonding time?"

Alec grumbles a "fine," and then hesitates for a moment. His sister chooses not to speak, but instead waits; it's likely she knows what he's about to ask. "How… How are mom and dad? How's Max?"

An exhale on the other end proves his hypothesis to be true. "They're fine. You should go visit them while you're in town. I'm sure they'd love to see you."

Alec laughs softly to himself. "We'll see."

* * *

Noon. Apparently that's when Magnus will arrive in New York, which finds Alec sitting in the waiting room fifteen minutes in advance. His foot taps away on the ground, he fidgets with nerves, and he drops his eyes to the ground. It isn't that he's anxious to see his partner – no, it's quite the contrary – but it's the events that are sure to follow that evening. Isabelle managed to coerce him into agreeing to go to _one_ of her favorite clubs, and Magnus would be thrilled knowing him. His leg is going numb from having it crossed over the other, so he changes positions once again. This time, however, he accidentally bumps into a lady sitting next to him and apologizes quickly.

Her face is creased with age, yet there is a happy twinkle in her eye. "It's no problem, deary." Her voice matches her eyes, a happy tone running underneath her raspy tone. Alec notices at that moment that a flowery perfume overtakes his nose mixed with powders of makeup. "I know how uncomfortable these chairs can be. Lord knows I've waited on enough of them."

Alec merely laughs amicably in hopes of being polite yet not obliging himself to any further conversation. He's there to pick up Magnus, that's it, so it isn't a social call. Much to his dismay, not that he lets it on out of courtesy, she continues.

"You see, my husband and my grandchildren travel a lot." She chuckles as she speaks, scrutinizes him. "You look an awful lot like my son when he was younger. Anyway, I always make sure I'm right here waiting for them when they return." There's pride in her posture as she finishes the statement, her spine impeccably straight and chin high. "That way they know they always have someone they can come back to."

"That sounds very nice." That's all that Alec can think to say, and it's in complete earnestness. "They're lucky."

The woman eyes him for a moment, the corners of her mouth inching up her cheeks. "And you," she starts, "who are you waiting for?"

Alec blinks. "My partner. I got here the day before yesterday, and he's coming today." He blinks yet again, realizing the double meaning of his statement. As she gives him a puzzled expression, he backtracks quickly. "My work partner. We work in pairs, and we call each other our partners."

At this point he can feel his cheeks burning up.

"Ah," the woman sounds, although her eyes are misty with thought. "You know, I have nothing against the gay-folk." She settles him with a stern look, sure to pin him to his spot. "My son is gay, the one I was telling you about. He brought home a friend once, although it was obvious he thought of him differently."

"I don't understand-" He is quieted instantly and listens bewilderedly.

"Ah, don't interrupt your elders." She tsks. "When I asked him about it, he turned red and sputtered. It wouldn't be until a year later that he came out, and he's now happily married to that friend."

"I still don't understand-" He thinks he's picked out her hints, her implications, but he has to be sure. Alec must be losing his mind.

"You're still naïve. How old are you?"

"Twenty six." Alec shifts yet again. He's uncomfortable with the subject, yet he knows there's no way the woman would allow him to change it.

"Twenty six," she repeats, testing the number on her tongue. "You're still very young. Listen to me, and listen to me closely." The woman leans in conspiratorially and drops her voice to a whisper. This forces Alec to turn his head and near the woman in hopes of hearing her in the roaring airport.

"It's obvious that you're smitten. It's written all over you, not just that one slip up. I don't know who he is, but does he make you happy?"

Alec nods, eyes darting out to scan the thickening crowd. A plane probably just unloaded.

"Then don't hold back. Go for him before he slips away."

He peeks at her, taken aback, yet he hadn't been expecting anything else.

"That's easier said than done."

"How so?" She is curious yet challenging.

Alec can go off on a list, starting with the undoubtable destruction of the friendship toward how unprofessional it would be. He never does have the opportunity to reply, though, because an ever familiar voice sounds behind the duo as he opens his mouth.

"Conspiring with grannies, are we? No offense, ma'am, but Alec!"

Alec jumps, spins to find the man in question behind him in all his glittery, flashy glory. Magnus leans forward over the two chairs, meticulously lined and colored eyes darting between the two. Alec stammers, trying to find a response between his sudden arrival and the woman's talk. He finds nothing, so he just presses his lips together once again.

Yet the old woman, quick on her toes as she's proven to be, snips back at him. "If anything you should be concerned for him. You never know what I could be planting into this dear skull of his."

Magnus positively beams, further accentuating his glitter and hues. "I like you."

She smiles back up at him kindly, and then she perks up. "Oh! I think I hear my granddaughter!" Her eyes, grey yet warm, turn to Alec. "Remember our conversation."

The woman turns out to be quick on her toes in more ways than one, which leaves Magnus and Alec watching her barrel toward a poor, unsuspecting descendent of hers.

"So," Magnus starts, turning his amber gaze toward Alec with a mischievous smile, "mind telling me about that conversation?"

Alec peers up at Magnus as he rises to his feet, which is quite a feat since the former is tall as it is, and shrugs. He can feel the residual sting in his cheeks, and he deepens his breath in hopes to keep it at bay. "Nothing much. Just some chitchat."

Magnus raises a brow skeptically, obviously not buying the lie, but he doesn't press it any further much to Alec's relief.

"Should we get going? There's a lot on the case, and there's a lot to do. I've already started on looking through the file." The suggestion rolls of his tongue much easier after it comes to mind, and Magnus gives a "why not" shrug. So Alec sighs. It's been quite the trip to pick him up, but he's elated to have his partner back with him.

* * *

After taking an hour to get Magnus situated in the hotel room, they sit cross-legged on the floor in their given room at the station. Magnus, bless the man, slipped away at some point only to reappear with the brown, wondrous, steaming nectar of the angels. Perhaps he had noticed that Alec was reading the same few lines over and over again, or perhaps it was that Alec was rubbing his eyes repeatedly, or maybe even the occasional yawn here or there. Whatever it was that tipped the man off, Alec is grateful and has a mug of piping hot coffee. He inhales the scent, savors it as it engulfs the room. It's time to crack down once again on sorting out the data, and Alec's well-armed with his drink and his partner.

But Magnus seems to want nothing of it.

"Alec."

He glances up to find Magnus looking at him with a tilt of his head. "Yeah?"

"Does your sister know we're in town?" The genuine sincerity and hope on his face makes Alec's heart flutter.

"Yeah. She called me last night, and she wants us to get together tonight." His tone is flat as he returns to a sheet that was now _beckoning_ him. Right.

Alec can't see, but he's certain Magnus is practically vibrating with ecstasy or something like that. "Did she say where?"

"Something about a Pandemonium?" He remembers the name because it's something akin to their case and what parties are usually like: chaotic and in disorder. Alec prides himself in that mnemonic.

"Ohhh, that's a good one!" Magnus hums, and it's clear that he's excited. The room is practically crackling with rampant anticipation.

"Yeah." It's a nice, noncommittal response, and it acknowledges what Mangus said. Yet it seems to not please him.

"You might like this one. Give it a try?"

Alec's focus remains on the sheet in front of him, blocks of texts creating a nice wall between Magnus and him. "I'm already being forced to go by Izzy, and you know clubs aren't my thing."

Magnus sighs. "I know."

This prompts Alec to peek up at Magnus and scrutinize him. His hair that artfully pokes up, much like the opposite of his own bedhead; his almond-shaped eyes that hold the most alluring gold flecked with green and that are skillfully framed in a layer of colors and lines; those kind lips that always seem to turn upward when he sees them; and those long, slender fingers that summon him occasionally or wave away a silly statement; and just the overall masterpiece that was Magnus Bane entranced Alec.

Yeah, so the lady was right, Alec is "smitten" with his partner, but Magnus's definitely out of his league. So while they are friends, and great friends at that, he can't hope for anything more.

Magnus meets Alec's eyes, which prompts the latter to drop them again. Yet they both remain silent – until the door slams open violently to reveal none other than the infamous Jace himself.

Alec can nearly hear Magnus's near growl (he can be such a cat sometimes); the two never really got along. Maybe it's because they're too alike for their own good, or maybe it's because that, despite that, their personalities still clash. Or maybe it was their first meeting (which was an absolute catastrophe).

"Hello, Magnus," Jace greets, his voice tight, as he turns to Alec. "Someone brought in donuts to share." Magnus snorts, which earns a glare from the other two. "You should come get some while there's still some left. You know Officer Roades."

"We will," Alec decides, turning his attention back to Jace. "Staff lounge?"

"Staff lounge." Jace enters the room and crouches down beside the FBI agents. "Tell me, what have you found out? Anything yet?"

Alec exhaled heavily and shook his head. "This is our first day together on this project. We're probably not going to make any progress yet."

"Uhhh, Alec?" He blinks over the Magnus, curiosity tugging an eyebrow up.

"Yeah?"

"This symbol. I know it." The man looks pained, like he's digging through his memory. His lips are pressed together tightly, nearly disappearing into each other, his eyes are narrowed considerably, and thought lines run deep on his forehead.

"What is it?" He couldn't help but ask even if he knew Magnus couldn't remember. Yet he needed the confirmation.

And it came, which did little to ease Magnus's expression.

"So aside from learning what Magnus's constipated must look like," this earned Jace several deaths by glower from the mentioned party, "have you found anything else?"

"Again, no."

Jace clicks his tongue in thought, and then he springs to his feet. "Okay. I should let you two get back. Remember the donuts, play safe, and no paper cuts. Got it?"

Alec is the only one to vaguely give a response, which is a mere bob of the head. Work is calling again.

"I know what it is. What is it?"

"Don't hurt yourself."

"Hush."

Alec laughs and is joined moments later by Magnus.

* * *

Has Alec ever mentioned that he hates clubs?

Pandemonium turns out to be no different. It's the same cliché bodies squirming over each other, inebriation, and questionable decisions accompanied by blaring music. Isabelle, Magnus, Jace, and he are crowded around a table much too small for the four of them, yet he can barely make out what they're saying if he's lucky.

And he's fairly certain Isabelle just said something about modeling a new goat for a collection. Or was it a coat? That would make so much more sense.

Someone is shoved into his back, yet not a word or gesture is exchanged between the two. Just him slamming into the table, turning to see who may have been the culprit, and no discernable individual to pick out. So Alec turns back to his companions in a huff, ready to leave, yet knowing that he will be suffering there for hours yet.

Isabelle tries to say something to him, but he can't hear what it is. Alec gives her a quizzical look, and she sighs.

"Would you like something to drink?" Isabelle yells this time so that he can hear her over the pounding bass vibrating through his body.

Oh. Alec hesitates, but concedes a nod. It may be his only saving grace that night, so he might as well go for it. She rises from her seat, probably already asked the other two if they want something, and slinks off. That leaves Magnus, Jace, and Alec. Jace, however, not wanting to be stuck next to _Magnus_ for a few moments conjures up an excuse to help Isabelle with the drinks and protect her from overly friendly strangers – never mind that they all _knew_ she could handle herself beautifully.

"Stop sulking." Magnus prods him with his elbow, and Alec sinks lower in his cushioned chair.

"I'll sulk if I want to." It's immature, he knows, but it's the best he can come up with.

Magnus purses his lips disapprovingly; he can be such a mother sometimes. "I'll buy you coffee again tomorrow from that place you like."

Alec pauses.

"And you haven't seen your sister in a long time."

Crap, that's true.

"And you're acting like a petulant child. Didn't your parents ever tell you to behave?"

Alec huffs and straightens himself, glaring over to Magnus for a brief moment. "You owe me coffee."

Magnus bobs his head in resignation. "I owe you coffee, kid."

"Don't call me 'kid'." At this point Alec knows he should drop this subject all together, but he doesn't.

Magnus, however, doesn't show a sign of caring. "You're younger than I am, and you're acting like a child."

"By only two years!" That isn't a lot!

"Two years can make a big difference."

Alec huffs again, yet he's careful not to resort to sulking again; sulking would mean no more free coffee.

He mutters, "It's just two years."

And although he's sure Magnus can't hear what he just uttered, he sees all the telltale signs of a Magnus snort. The single nod of the head, the convulsion, and the blinding smile afterward that makes his heart flutter.

Isabelle and Jace return not too long after with drinks in hand, laughing away at some joke Isabelle probably heard from a coworker or some story Jace had from work. They take a few sips before attempting to drag Alec off to the writhing heap of bodies, but they manage only to persuade Magnus. So he gives a final glance to Alec, probably making sure he'll be okay alone for a bit, before trailing the three to the legal public orgy.

Which leaves Alec with staring at his drink and on protection duty for the other three. He isn't even sure what it's called, but it burns sharply as it goes down. He makes a mental note to thank his sister later for choosing something strong. Although he refuses to admit it as sulking, he sinks back into his chair again and sighs. With his trusty pal, alcohol, he will be able to make the night! Hopefully. So he takes another sip and digs his phone out of his pocket. Maybe he has a game on there or something. Flip phones can, right?

But, as he was snapping the screen open, an incoming call pops up with a very familiar number. So Alec slides off his chair and weaves his way toward the bathrooms, where hopefully he can find some nearby quite. It isn't perfect by any means, but at least he can understand Sheriff Hodge talking on the other end if he has it on the highest volume setting.

"I've sent you a text with the address." Alec is plugging his other ear to be able to hear the speaker.

"Okay. I'll find Magnus and bring him to the scene as soon as I can." He's practically yelling, but not to the extent that he would have had to at the table.

"Good! I'll see you there!"

"See you there."

And the conversation's done just as soon as it started and leaving Alec in the men's room. So he takes a moment in front of the mirror to study himself. His hair is messier than usual, a result of the long day and now night; his blue eyes stand out dramatically against his dark locks and pale skin; his clothes are nothing special, a simple sweater paired with the jeans he wore on the flight over (and he stands out quite a bit at the club, not that Magnus or Isabelle didn't try to force him into anything a bit more stylish); fatigue hangs under his eyes in the form of bags, something he hadn't really noticed until that moment.

So Alec spins a knob to start the stream of water in the sink and splashes his face. The water is cool and refreshing, waking him ever the slightest from the haze that was descending upon him. He looks back up into the mirror to see droplets sliding down his cheeks and dripping from his chin. A paper towel makes quick work of drying him, and he's back out to look for Magnus. He can only pray that he won't be too hard to find and not too far in the crowd.

Thank the angel, he isn't; he's about fifteen feet in the mass of people, moving in ways Alec didn't know are possible. Unfortunately it still requires him to squeeze past some individuals who seem to desire getting up and personal with him, and he nearly jumps away from them in whatever space he's allowed. He just needs to make it to that spikey head, pull him out, and then they'll be good to go. It's even a two for one, really; it allows them to leave the club early, and it will hopefully yield more information for the case.

When Alec finally makes it to the figure, he taps on his glistening shoulder, yells his name. The ever familiar eyes turn back to him, light up exponentially when they do fall upon him. Magnus's mouth forms the name "Alec", but it's impossible to hear. So Alec gestures for him to come, much to what appears to be his disappointment, but he does so nonetheless.

When they've cleared the crowd (thank the angel again), Alec continues on toward the men's room once again, but with Magnus still in tow.

"Sheriff Hodge called," Alec finally explains once they reach the room, the walls still doing the semi-muffling magic.

"And?" Magnus prompts.

"There's been another homicide. He wants us on the scene as soon as possible."

"It's the middle of the night."

"It's a fresh homicide fitting the profile of our case."

Magnus sighs, pinches his nose for moment in thought. He finally concedes. "Fine. We'll just have to let Izzy and Jace know we're leaving."

"Can do."

* * *

The subway is just as bad as Alec remembers it if not worse because of the hour. A few cars down on the rickety vehicle is a cluster of drunk teenagers stumbling and staggering as they stood, their speech slurred to the point of indistinguishable. At one point one of the shorter ones took to yelling the national anthem; it reduced his friends to convulsing piles of inebriated giggles.

Not too far away in the other direction is an elderly man sleeping, not that Alec could complain about that, but he wonders if the old man didn't croak while on his trip home. It's a twitch and a rapid, harsh itching of his nose that would assure Alec of his livelihood.

"You're pouting more than usual." Magnus finally speaks since they'd left the club. Alec wasn't sure at the time if he was miffed from being dragged away from his definition of fun or what may have been the case, but he was unsettlingly silent during the walk.

"You make it sound like I pout all the time." Alec peels his attention from the other passengers to watch Magnus; the latter chuckles lightly and leans his head back on the window behind him.

"Not like this, no."  
"You're repeating yourself."

Magnus rolls his head just enough to eye Alec. He fidgets under the gaze, yet he doesn't break the eye contact. "What's bothering you?"

Alec doesn't respond. Instead he turns his attention once again to the teens down the subway, the teens who are now attempting to judge the speed of the train. The national anthem yeller estimates around a hundred miles per hour, an average sized individual with an accent guesses 273 kilometers per hour, and an echoing argument on whether the imperial or metric measuring system is better ensues.

"Alexander," Alec nearly cringes, despises the use of his full first name, "look at me."

And so he does, only to find orbs filled with concern studying him. Why didn't Magnus make a sound when he moved? He's too graceful for his own good.

"What?" It's rude, he knows, and he can bet what Magnus is going to repeat. It's just what happened to come out.

"What's bothering you?"

Alec takes a long pause, shifts in his seat uncomfortably, and drops his gaze to the wall ahead of them. Some ad is plastered there for shoes and sports a soccer-playing woman and man.

"It's being back in New York."

This time, for whatever reason unknown to man, he hears Magnus shuffle against the seat. Surprise is clear in his note-higher pitch. "Being back in New York?"

Alec swallows, shakes his head to banish the memories that invades it. "It's nothing you need to worry about."

"Alec," Magnus tries, places his elbows on his knees and leans forward. "You know you can trust me, right?"

Alec is the surprised one here, and he blinks up rapidly at Magnus, stumbles much like the drunkards over his words. "Of course! I – What – Of course!"

"And remember that, okay?"

Alec closes his mouth to prevent anymore words from spilling out, so he resorts to nodding an affirmation. This seems enough for Magnus, although barely if his hesitation is anything to go by, and leans back on the subway wall behind him. Much to Alec's pleasure, he doesn't press the subject further, so he resorts to watching the drunken group continues to bicker.

* * *

There's a distraught woman sobbing at the door to a towering house. Next to her are a few policemen scribbling rapidly as she manages words between her gasps, all closed off by ribbons of yellow tape. The night, dark and cloaking, masks what lies among the trees enveloping the neighborhood.

Magnus takes the lead, ducking under the single ribbon that would surely hold off any prying eye. "Sheriff!" he calls with an amiable wave, a grin widening as the man gestured them forward.

"I'm glad you both could make it," he mutters, voice intentionally low. "Listen, my people are here to do their work. Let them do it. If you need anything, come contact me. Then again, I'm sure you get this drill enough as it is. He's in the dining room, first door to your left once you enter."

Magnus speaks up before Alec. "Not to worry. It's better to make sure we know than not. We understand, and thank you."

And he starts off toward the house, leaving Alec trotting in his wake. "Alec," he starts again. His pace doesn't falter as he sends a quick glance back to his partner; his mission is on reaching the house and the scene as quickly as possible. "Can you start poking around? I'll talk to the lady and see what happened."

Alec nods and gives a quick "Okay" before turning to enter the house, Magnus striding off toward the distressed woman and the officers.

It's just as grand inside as it is outside, and he stops for a moment to scan the entry. The ceiling looms high overhead, and the halls are vast, leaving Alec feel miniscule with those first few steps. His shoes thud lightly on the wood floor as he pads forward a few more feet, bouncing off the pristine walls and ceiling. He peeks through a doorway lined with a deep colored wood, he's never known how to tell them apart, and spots a few officers crouched around the room. They're flashing their cameras, capturing any little thing that seems out of place; a box sits on the table and appears empty – although it's likely there's a bag or two at the bottom.

Alec steps lightly over toward the box and looks down. His inklings are confirmed; two paper bags lie at the bottom, effectively shielding and capturing the evidence. Someone will find him later to share what they yield, that's certain, but he still can't help the curiosity that begins to pick at his stomach.

"Agent Lightwood!" a voice gasps, snapping Alec from his ponderings. He spots the speaker, a woman most likely his age. She's pretty, he notes; her fiery red hair is pulled back loosely, her delicate face returning from its startled gape to a disapproving frown, and she lowers the camera in front of her lean body. "There's a thing called knocking or at least _letting us know you're here_."

"Oh." It's all he manages to say. One point to Alec for managing to give the officer a near heart attack; the other just looked back briefly in veiled interest.

She's quickly on topic, which in turn takes Alec aback. "Officer Fray. The body's over there." She points toward a crumpled figure on the ground, "If you want to look at that, do it first. The medical examiner's going to get here pretty soon, and it's going with him"

"Body first," Alec repeats under his breath.

"We're finishing taking pictures of the scene. Nothing looks _too_ out of place like the other homicides, but we can't be too careful anymore."

Alec takes a quick scan of the room to find that it's true to his words, not that he was expecting anything different. The room seems immaculately clean save a shimmering pool of blood around the freshly dead corpse.

"Can you send me a copy of them when you can?" He returns his gaze to her, and she nods.

"Certainly. I'll get your email from Jace. He should have it." For some reason, the fact that Officer Fray knows Jace surprised him, although he knew it shouldn't. They work at the same place for the same department, so it's only natural they would. How close are they? Jace was practically his brother, and they had memories that stretched back to their childhood! He can't let those thoughts bother him, not now at least.

"Great," he manages to croak, earning him a funny look from the officer.

"Okay. Anyway, we also found some pieces that we're sending to forensics." She makes a nod toward the box on the table. "It's not much, but it's something."

"What is it?"

"There's a broken glass. Something probably happened to it during the homicide. Apparently the set is very important to the couple, so it's unlikely that it was already like that. There's also blood on it, which probably belongs to the victim, but again we can't be too careful." She shrugs nonchalantly and continues. "The other is a knife that was found next to the victim. We'll have to ask the wife if it belongs to her, but we suspect it was used."

Alec already knows they will, but he asks out of confirmation. "Let me know the results of the testing, too?"

Officer Fray snorts and smirks. "Of course. Listen, we'll send you whatever we find. We're going through the collection protocol, but if you need anything else, let me know. This case seems like a fun one."

Alec can't help but laugh, and it helps to ebb the waning jealousy. "If that's what you want to call it."

"It's what I'm going to call it. If you find anything juicy, aside from that corpse over there, tell me."

Alec's smile remains. "Okay."

Officer Fray returns to capturing tiny, perhaps insignificant details with her camera, and Alec heeds her advice and meanders over to the body.

The first thing he notices is that always present mark that loudly declares this part of their case – even if it is hidden significantly by a coppery mess. It's no longer bleeding, most likely due to a combination of the man's death and the coagulation sticking to his back, but if the pool around him was anything to go by, it did significantly. With a sickening pang, he realizes that this must have been done without a doubt while they were alive; his vague glimmer of hope is slashed long after its expiration date. He really needs to speak with whoever that medical examiner is.

"The medical examiner said the other victims died of blood loss, right?" Alec already knows the answer, it was written in the file, but he's thinking aloud.

"Yeah, because of whatever that is," Officer Fray answers, rests her camera on the table, and points to the mark. "It's one of the first things Simon will tell you."

Alec grimaces as he tries not to think of the searing pain the victim must have endured. All four of them now. He continues on to scour the body for any other signs of injury, and the hunt is instantly fruitful.

Officer Fray is a step ahead of him, though. "If you look, he was incapacitated most likely before the suspect got to work on his back."

She's right. His legs are slashed – probably to keep him from escaping – and Alec swallows to keep himself from gagging. There's more blood clinging to his legs and floor; he just notices a faint metallic smell in the air.

"I've only seen pictures," Alec prefaces, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from the gruesome sight before him and up toward the delightful sight of Officer Fray, "but Victoria's legs were broken."

She nods solemnly. "It's hard to tell in the pictures, but the other two's legs were crippled in some way, too. It seems as though whoever did this wanted to incapacitate them."

Alec snorts, chuckles lightly. "You're doing my job better than I am."

"Nonsense," Officer Fray argues, a kind smile alight on her lips. "You've only just started. You'll figure this out in no time."

Alec can't help but smile back. "We'll see."

Footsteps start rhythmically and growingly down the hall, their pace quick, and Officer Fray lights up.

"That must be Simon here for the body," she informs him, raising her eyes to the doorway. Sure enough, an unfamiliar man appears in the doorway. He pushes his glasses up higher on his nose and brushes some curls out of his face.

"Clary!" he nearly exclaims in an odd informality for such a morbid environment. "Sorry I'm late."

The second officer in the room makes a noise akin to a cough.

"And George. What a pleasant surprise."

Yet George says nothing and continues dusting a surface with powder.

And then Simon's eyes fall on Alec, and a trace of dawning illuminates them. "You must be one of the agents."

Alec nods and rises to his feet. "Alexander Lightwood."

Simon studies him for a moment, and then his eyes drop to the body. He rubs his hands together in, dare Alec think it, excitement. "You and I are going to have a jolly good time." His attention returns briefly to Alec. "And you and I are going to have to talk. Meet me in the morgue tomorrow at noon."

* * *

Alec rolls over with a resounding groan. The blankets are pulled up snugly around his neck, engulfing him in an oven of pleasant toastiness, and he snuggles down deeper in them. He has no intentions of leaving his cocoon anytime soon, nor does he intend of leaving the relaxing black abyss behind his eyelids. Not after the last two days of late nights, early mornings, travel, and extra brainwork. No one could make him.

Fortunately for him, Magnus let him be even after he showered and scavenged for some breakfast. It's in those fleeting moments of semi-consciousness that Alec hears the running water or the rummaging through bags in the small fridge. Those melodies of morning are followed not too long after by the rampant tapping of fingers on a keyboard, sounds that lull Alec back into complete unconsciousness once again.

The next thing he knows after that final sink is that someone is shaking his wonderfully covered shoulder. "Alec. Alec, wake up."

He attempts to pull his poor, violated shoulder away from the intruding hand, but the try is in vain. It returns once again.

"Alec. You've slept in longer than you should have, and we have leave to see Simon pretty soon."

Alec mumbles something incoherent into his pillow, and the ruthless awakener sighs heavily.

"You have until the count of three or I'm taking drastic measures."

Alec curls down deeper into his blanket to hide from that force of evil.

"One."

He does nothing more.

"Two."

What's the worst the evil could do?

"Two and a half."

See? It can't even count up right.

"Alec, don't make me reach three."

It should have already if it were doing things right.

"Three."

And a rush of cool air washes over Alec, and his eyes shoot open. He curls in on himself to preserve whatever body heat he may have left, and the absolutely _glares_ at the triumphant man before him. And the blanket in his hands.

"Good morning, sunshine!" Magnus chirps, cheerily smiling as he watches his disgruntled partner. "I hope you slept plenty, but we still have work we need to get done today."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A second chapter!? Already!? Unheard of!
> 
> But alas! Here it is!
> 
> Again, constructive criticism makes my world go round!

Alec doesn't speak to Magnus until they're back on the subway. After the rude awakening that morning, he's certain his partner deserves a harsher sentence, but their job requires him to actually _communicate_ with the evil man. He doesn't have much of a choice, they still have the previous night (or morning) to debrief, so he succumbs to finally saying something to his partner.

Unfortunately, the rickety car is nowhere to discuss the new information regarding the case.

"That wasn't very nice," Alec finally states, which earns an amused snort from Magnus. That was what came to mind first, and he internally berates himself for his lack of wittiness.

"You're still upset about that, aren't you?" His tone is light, and amusement floats within it.

"You didn't have to yank the blankets off," Alec grumbles, settling his gaze on the empty seat in front of them. It's like the _Project Runway_ incident of '11 again.

Magnus looks over to him nonetheless. "You weren't waking up."

Alec wants to argue that he _was very much so awake and just had his eyes closed_ , but he knows that would be a fruitless fight. So he goes to the ever more effective method of repetition. "You still didn't have to yank the blankets off."

Magnus just rolls his eyes. "What did I do to be burdened with such a partner?" Mock woe fills his voice, and Alec is forced to suppress a small laugh. He's mad, _and he's going to act mad_.

Or not.

He peeks over at Magnus. The sentence has to run through his head a few times for phrasing, but in the end it comes out as a "You know you like having me as a partner." He can't risk _implications_.

And he is graced with a resigned, "Yeah. What am I thinking? What's wrong with me?"

"I'm not sure, and I don't think I want to know."

Magnus chuckles softly, and Alec joins in not too long after.

Perhaps his punishment is up now.

* * *

Alec looks to his infamous flip phone and breaks the friendly silence between them. "We're a half hour early," he informs Magnus as he pockets the device. He squirms a bit to get the opening angle right, sliding down in his chair some, but he recovers shortly after.

Magnus watches him with a blank expression that suddenly ignites into consciousness. "We should start sharing our findings." His suggestion brings a small smile to Alec's lips; he seems to be reading his mind.

"What did you find out?" Alec tilts his head in the slightest; he's sincerely curious.

"Well," Magnus leans back in his ungodly uncomfortable chair as he ponders; the police station should invest in some more homey and not back-or-joint killing furniture. Alec shifts in his seat again and misses his lovely, "ergonomic" throne back in his office. "She was hard to get anything out of, and understandably so. Her husband _just died_. Anyway, he had no known enemies, was a big social butterfly, showed no unusual behavior, had no medical problems – but it is funny in a sick, morbid sort of way. She said that he'd been working a lot of overtime lately, and she feared it would be the death of him." He chuckles lightly despite the situation and despite Alec's incredulous expression, then he hastens to explain. "The irony's what's funny. Anyway! There was nothing really that stood out. Everything she said sounded normal."

Alec bites his lower lip in thought. "What if…" he starts, thinking his next words over carefully, "What if we're paying too much attention to what we find instead of what we don't find?" He blinks over to Magnus and studies those entrancing eyes.

Magnus pauses, pondering it for a moment. "What are you thinking?"

"Well, she didn't tell us anything that obviously points somewhere." Alec fidgets in his seat, and his words are still slow, meticulous. "But what if there are clues in what seems normal?"

Magnus bobs his head in a mix of thought and agreement. "Unfortunately that leaves us with a lot of ground to cover, but it's probably the best we have. We should question more people and see if they know anything."

"Now where do we start?" Alec doesn't direct the question solely to Magnus but to himself as well, and he commences once again to nibble at his lower lip.

"You're going to ruin your beautiful lips, Alexander," Magnus chastises lightly, provoking the ever familiar heat to wake from its dormant state and rage in Alec's cheeks, and he continues on as usual. "We can find some of his close friends and coworkers. They might be our best bet, and we can branch out if we need to."

Alec's no longer chomping on his lip and, instead, has it pressed firmly against his upper. He inhales and then parts them to speak. "That sounds like a plan."

Magnus smiles, content with that course of action, and then he eyes Alec. "Now tell me, what did you find?"

* * *

The morgue is cold. It's not one of those shiver madly while waiting for hypothermia to overcome you sorts of cold. Instead it's one of those lighter colds that creeps under your skin while you're unaware and builds in intensity until you notice – and it's impossible to push the chilly sensation toward the back of your mind, and it's _there_ and makes you shudder in all the most inopportune moments. Even with his sweater, Alec's noticed the nippy temperature. He wonders vaguely if Magnus has; he isn't showing any hint of being affected.

Then again, he's been able to hide things like that easily. How, Alec's never found out.

"There you two are!" a voice sounds, snapping Alec out of his thoughts. The man before them, the same one who came for the body the night before, is looking up with a smile from his notes. He pushes his glasses up his nose and sets the clipboard down. "I was starting to wonder!"

Alec grimaces slightly at the thought of being late, but Magnus again seems unfazed. They _arrived_ at the station early, but they had become so lost in their conversation that they lost track of time. Perhaps he should look into an alarm, or maybe there's something on his phone. He'll have to see.

"Sorry about that," Alec manages to voice before Magnus speaks up.

"You have things to show us?" His voice is light and serious, a Magnus professionalism.

Simon claps his hands together and nods. "Do I ever! Come here!" He motions for the two to approach the table, and they do (Alec more wearily than Magnus). Alec can't help but note he seems a bit more excited than the average person should be over a few dead bodies, but, then again, Magnus and he do make a living solving why they were dead. Maybe there isn't much room for him to talk.

Simon flips through a few pages on his clipboard, two sets of agent eyes on him, before stopping with an "Ah ha!" He sets it back down on the table, a few sheets curled under the board, and skims the page. "Victor was his name," he starts finally, looking up at the two. "Then again, you probably already know that. He died just like the other three: blood loss. Where did they bleed to death from? Well." he turns to walk toward a square, metal door on the wall. He tugs it open and subsequently pulls out a tray. "If you come over here, I can show you. He isn't as bloody as yesterday, so don't worry."

Alec takes a few steps toward the body lying on the tray, Magnus ahead of him as seems to be the norm. They stop across from the medical examiner, side by side, and he shudders (from the cold of course).

"Here you can see where the killer slashed his calves. It probably would have been a bit more effective to aim for the Achilles heel, but it worked anyway." Simon gives a "C'est la vie" shrug and carries on. "He not too long after starting carving this masterpiece onto his back." This time he procures a photo out of his metaphorical sleeve with a clear image of the symbol. "Whatever it is, it's been on every single one of the victims, and it's been what's bled them out. I'm also positive it was excruciating for the victims, too."

That seems obvious to Alec, back carvings have never appealed to him. So he, finally able to tear his eyes away from the disturbing image, turns his gaze toward Magnus who has the same agonized expression as the day before.

"Magnus."

That doesn't work to snap him out of his reverie, so Alec prods him with his elbow. That seems to work as Magnus nearly leaps out of his skin. "Alec! Don't do that!"

Alec blinks at him, startled, but says nothing more. Magnus purses his lips and glances once more at the symbol.

"What else do you have?" He raises them from the picture, and Alec surmises that he's shoving the knowing from his mind.

"Nothing much. Just confirming suspicions you already have and making sure you hear it from the medical examiner. If I find anything, you'll be the first to know!"

Simon nearly beams at them, and Alec blinks. Seriously, how can someone be so obsessed and happy over _dead people_? "Uhh, thank you."

Magnus peeks briefly at Alec, his expression unreadable, before returning once again to Simon. "We'll keep in touch."

* * *

Alec inhales the aroma of his coffee. He could do without the smell interference of the café – the pervasive scent of rolls, sandwiches, teas, and people – but the steaming beverage before him nearly fills his nose with happiness.

Magnus, on the other hand, seems highly amused. "Remind me," he states, laughter dancing in his voice, "that the fastest way to your heart is probably coffee. Or bribery."

Alec opens an eye as little as possible to glare at Magnus. He isn't going to ruin the moment if the agent can help it, and he isn't going to give him slack for it either. "Don't judge me, _cat man_."

Magnus gasps, but a sly curl winds at the edge of his lips. "Someone's feistier than usual today, although I'm not complaining."

A snort sounds from Alec, and he shakes his head. The coffee is still very hot yet, so he waits for his first sip, but it's beckoning with every ounce of its caffeinated soul. "Someone had a rude awakening this morning."

He shuts the eye again, plunging the earthy yet homey café into a world of relaxing blackness. How it seemed like the sleep he was so mercilessly ripped from that morning!

"You should have woken up from my first attempts, then!" Magnus's tone is persistent, but it's still teasing. Alec can feel himself smile and laugh lightly. "Make sure you keep that in mind tomorrow."

Alec slits his eye open again, his partner sharpening into view, and studies him. He's dressed just as colorfully as usually, but he appears taken to green today. One of the charming things about that color on him is that it makes Magnus's eyes appear greener, and he can hope that he won't notice if he stares for a moment longer.

No such luck befalls the mere mortal. Magnus raises a brow, and Alec shuts the eyes again quickly, knowing he's turning red yet again. Why was he so pale and quick to blush? Oh, right, genetics combine with Magnus's enchanting appearance and personality and _entirety_.

Alec brings the mug to his lips – he needs to do something if he wants to keep from igniting – and takes a sip. It's then that his phone vibrates, causing him to jump, some coffee to spill over, and him on his feet in the end.

His blue eyes are wide in shock, and he can feel some of the searing coffee seep into his jeans. He's going to smell like coffee until he can get those washed – not like that's a bad thing – but now he has to deal with wet spots, some minor scalds if he's unfortunate enough, and Magnus's gape.

"Alexander, are you alright?" The concern is evident in his voice.

The phone is still buzzing; it's a call. "Yeah, yeah," Alec breaths, snatching his phone from a pool of coffee. That's going to smell like it, too, so he wipes it on his already blessed jeans.

But, as he flips it open and presses the phone to his ear, he realizes that the coffee managed to make its way to the inside, too. Alec cringes as he feels the wetness against his ear, but he manages a semi-normal, "Alexander Lightwood."

"Alec!" The voice nearly cheers, then pauses. "Alec, is everything okay?"

"Yeah," Alec is quick to answer, settling once again into his chair. He glances over to an inquisitive Magnus and mouths "Izzy". He gives an acknowledging nod and reclines on the wooden chair. "Just spilled some coffee."

Isabelle laughs on the other end. "You're addicted. See how dangerous these dependencies can be?"

"It's not an addiction. It's a," he's looking for a word, a similar yet completely not synonymous word, "a strong liking."

She shorts. "'Strong liking' or not, your caffeine withdrawals are going to be hell."

Alec cringes at the thought. Okay, so maybe he has a _slight_ caffeine addiction, but he won't admit it. Not at all, and it's only slight; he only drinks five or six mugs a day… Minimum. "Don't remind me."

"Anyway," Isabelle continues, her tone back to business, "since we weren't really able to catch up last night, I was hoping we could go to dinner tonight."

Alec bites his lip briefly, pondering, then asks, "Just dinner, right?"

Isabelle sighs. "Just dinner, unless either you or your sexy partner wants to do something else."

He coughs, feeling the red that had finally subsided flare up again. "I – Uhhh – We'll make dinner at least." He glances over to Magnus for confirmation, who merely nods an agreement with an amused grin.

"Fantastic! Usual place at seven?"

"Usual place at seven." He prods at a wet spot that has cooled significantly; it feels awkward against his skin.

"I won't hold you too much longer – I know you're probably working _very hard_."

Alec snorts, although he misses the second meaning laced in her sentence. "We'll see you tonight, Izzy."

She hums an "Until tonight" before hanging up.

Magnus, the saintly man that he is, nearly jumps to speak once Alec flips his phone closed.

"Let me buy you another coffee."

* * *

Alec's head thumps on the wall behind him, and he lets out an exasperated moan. This tears Magnus's attention away from some document or another with uncharacteristically widened eyes. Alec shifts his own to capture Magnus's gaze, holds it questioningly.

"I never expected you to make those sounds in a police station," Magnus teases, his demeanor turning playful. Alec, on the other hand, turns red.

"Not everything has to be turned dirty!"

Magnus chuckles and turns his focus back toward the document. "What was the sound for, anyway?"

Alec huffs and puffs out his cheek, and he notices Magnus is watching him again. So he fidgets. "We're not getting anywhere. We haven't for a while."

"Like you said this morning, we need to look more at what we don't have, and we haven't gone there yet –"

"Exactly!" Alec rights himself. "We haven't gone there yet, and even there we're stretching it!"

"And we have the symbol – "

"And we don't even know what it is!"

Magnus freezes and blinks, a dawning washing over him. "No, we know what it is. _Why_ it's there is a good question." His voice is slow, searching, calculating.

Alec tilts his head in the slightest, studies Magnus. What is he talking about? "Magnus?"

He blinks again and focuses on Alec. "It makes so much sense."

"What makes so much sense?" He's confused. Completely confused, and Magnus's cryptic speech isn't helping at all.

Magnus sighs, searching for words again. "Back during the sixties and seventies there were two crime syndicates: the Shadowhunters and the Downworlders. They were always at odds, but they somehow managed to create a truce and semi-coexist, meaning there was still a tension. Then the tension led them to a snapping point, and mutual destruction ensued. The Shadowhunters used these things they called runes to communicate among each other, and this happens to be one." He fishes a picture out of the pile and drops it between them. "Which one it is, I don't know, but it shouldn't be too hard to figure out."

Alec's gaze is on the picture between them, studying the lines engraved on Victor's back. "So you're saying that these Shadowhunters and Downworlders are at odds again?" He doesn't look over to Magnus; the sickly beautiful lines twisting and spinning on his back hold him fast.

"No." What Alec assumes to be confidence leaks into his voice. "They destroyed each other, and those who happened to survive were arrested. Everyone's either in dead or in jail and, if anyone did manage to stay under the radar, it's way too risky to try anything."

Alec bites his lip in thought, trying to puzzle the information together. Magnus, however, postulates before he does. "It is possible that there's someone who's familiar with this history – it's not impossible to find – and is using the Shadowhunter rune to send a message to someone or someones."

Alec nods, considering the high possibility of that being true, yet he doesn't speak. It's still Magnus. "Of course, that's just a theory. There are still a lot of options out there, and we should find out which rune this is exactly."

Alec blinks and nods again, unsure of what else to say. Magnus, however, is pulling the one picture near as well as hunting for a pen and paper. Alec pushes them toward him, and he begins to copy the symbol; perhaps it is a better idea to bring a sketch of the mark instead of a picture of a body. Imagine the look on a poor, unsuspecting soul's face.

"Magnus?" he finally croaks, his partner's head shooting up to look at him. "How did you know? It seems like very obscure information."

The man smiles lightly. "An elective back in college. It was on the history of organized crime." He returns to transferring the rune. "There was a snippet on it because not much is known about the two. They were both shrouded by mystery and, even though they were both very big and powerful, not much was revealed after their fall."

"But you doubt it's linked to them." Alec raises a brow in skepticism.

Magnus nods. "I doubt it's linked to them. I think it has to do with the message."

* * *

Dinner that night is nice. There's no blasting music, no squirming bodies (save his occasional shift), no drunk wanderers or troublemakers, no flashing or blinding lights. No, instead there's some light background music playing some generic hit, a light chatter humming along with it accompanied by the rhythm of silverware, and the conversation around the table that is for the most part light.

This Alec can do and will do happily – unlike those almost-as-evil-as-morning clubs.

Situated around the table are people than he anticipated, and he can tell the same was true with Magnus. Then again, he was the liaison between Izzy and Magnus, but there was something lacking in the plans discussed between his sister and him. This is because, in addition to those three, there's Jace (who he expected to be honest) and also Officer Fray and Simon.

He's confused, but he doesn't dare ask; Alec knows Magnus will give him a stern talking-to if he does, and that's something he wishes to forgo if he can help it.

"Have those two," Isabelle points toward Magnus and him, "met Clary and Simon yet?"

Jace starts, preparing to speak by leaning forward over the table, but Officer Fray beats him to the punch easily. "Yes. We met at a crime scene incidentally. Work got to us before you did."

Jace finally has the opportunity to speak. "You should consider yourselves lucky, especially you." He settles Magnus with a look. Hopefully they aren't going to start their usual escapades tonight.

"Actually," Magnus corrects, a polite smile tracing his lips, "I never did get to meet Clary here at the crime scene. I saw her, yes, but we never spoke." He flips his menu shut. "Anyway, I'm happy you weren't the one introducing me. Lord knows what first impression that would have made or how it would have fractured your loving relationship."

Jace raises a brow. "How would it 'fracture my loving relationship'?"

Magnus shrugs nonchalantly and leans back in his chair. "You would have downplayed my magnificence and gorgeousness, which would have been a betrayal of trust, and then she would question your sexuality and if you really love her. Honestly, why would you be so afraid to admit it otherwise if it weren't out of fear of being perceived as anything but straight? You know it doesn't compromise the masculinity you cling to so desperately."

Those words merely bounce of Jace, and he laughs mockingly, preparing a comeback and another insult. Clary beats him to speak by asking how he knew, but Magnus laughs and starts on a nice, long, melodramatic speech about relationships. The same words, however, zing Alec, pulling him back to the recesses of his mind. Isabelle, Jace, and Magnus all know of his sexuality, and they were all okay with it from the beginning; Magnus is even "a freewheeling bisexual" as he so eloquently put it once. His parents, on the other hand, hadn't been so accepting. While they are on their way toward repairing their "fractured relationship", the damage is already done, and Alec still can't help but feel like he's still walking on eggshells around them. Around anyone, really, who isn't one of those three in front of him.

Yet those closeted years and the video of his parents' reactions haunt him yet, and the terror of someone discovering lingers on his shoulder. Alec fears being ostracized, losing credibility, those disgusted stares, the condescension, loss, and all based upon his sexuality still. He can't help but wonder if that has to do with his fondness of remaining in the background; no one can get to him there, and no one is really paying attention to what's happening there either.

He can't help but admire Magnus for his sheer carefree attitude when it comes to people asking, prying, questioning. He merely shrugs and answers, being sure to add an innuendo in there somewhere and with the typical glint in his eye. Magnus practically owns the center stage.

Alec sighs, zoned out of the conversation, and a voice shakes him from his meandering mind.

"Sorry," he stammers, blinking up toward the waiter staring at him. A snigger comes from the table, and he blushes slightly. He didn't zone out _that_ much, did he? "Just a water for me."

"Okay." The waiter, short and olive-skinned, turns chocolate eyes toward him once he finished scribbling. "And to eat?"

Right. To eat. He never looked for something to eat.

"Uhhh." Alec quickly flips open the menu, trying to spy something reasonably priced, there, and seemingly decent.

Isabelle eyes him for a moment, then she speaks. "We can give him some time and come back to him."

The waiter, silently, turns his attention to Jace. "And for you?"

A burger sounds nice, and probably something simple. No fancy embellishments, they tend to mask the core of the food much like those fancy flavors do for coffee, apparently a burger comes with a side of fries, and oh! There they have a nice one with the basics!

He decides, flips the menu shut.

The waiter's finishing with Isabelle – he couldn't have taken that long deciding – but then he turns his notepad to the barely prepared Alec.

"Have you decided?" His voice is fatigued from what's likely been a long shift, and Alec notices that his deep brown eyes are weary.

"A cheeseburger, please." It's definitely a good choice.

The waiter jots the order down on his pad and then tucks it under his arm. "I can take your menus now."

The process is smooth with the group passing them up toward the worker, and he collects them and departs. This leaves them silent for a moment, before Isabelle pipes up again.

"Alec, before I forget, Mom and Dad want to have you over for dinner while you're in town."

He should have seen it coming, really. Isabelle probably mentioned it, and they probably decided that they wanted to see their eldest, and he really should have called them to let them know he was going to be in the area. He's probably going to hear about it from them, too, and he doubts there's any way out of it. Then again, it also wouldn't be a good idea for their recovering relationship.

So Alec sighs in resignation. "Did they say when?"

Isabelle shakes her head in the slightest. "No. I think they want you to call."

"Fantastic." It's under his breath, but his sister gives him a stern look.

"They're trying, and Max misses you."

Alec bites his lower lip. It's probably been a year since he's seen his younger brother, and he misses him greatly. The dinner would accomplish two goals with one dinner.

"Okay, I'll give them a call."

Isabelle beams at him, dark eyes sparkling, crinkled, and her smile wide. "Great!"

Alec, however, returns a small smile. He knows he's making it out to be worse than it actually will be, but he can't help but feel hurt and dread lingering; the discussion cut deep.

She, probably sensing Alec's desire to change the subject, turns to Magnus. Her pace is dramatically faster, and she's now practically at the edge of her seat. "I hope you saw the new episode of _Project Runway_ last night. It was a disaster, but it's totally worth watching!"

"Regrettably I was preoccupied," Magnus laments, his shoulders slumping to further emphasize his disdain, "but I hear there's an invention – something called the 'internet' – that will help me find this new episode you speak of!"

Isabelle, catching and mocking his tone, continues off on a parallel tangent. "Heavens, what might this do? Dear Magnus, enlightener of the ignorant, please share with me this magic!"

Alec is clearly amused by their banter, yet chooses not to partake. Clary and Jace, on the other hand, are talking in low voices about only they know what; no one pays them any heed. It won't be until too much later that their food arrives, it's as delicious as Alec remembers, and everyone is immersed in a conversation about whether cats really are as intelligent as they're made out to be. Magnus, of course, argues that they're much more.

* * *

Magnus somehow manages to persuade the librarian to stay a half hour later so they can hunt down a few books on the history of the Shadowhunter and Downworlders. He's always been a very charismatic person, like sugar to a swarm of ants, but Alec supposes he's never really gauged the extent to which he is. Then again, his FBI badge may have helped as well, but he suspects Magnus's nature more than anything. At the same time, though, he can't help but feel sorry for the poor librarian; the library is open abnormally late as it is, and to spend an extra half hour in the vast and silent building must be exhausting. Doesn't she have anything she needs to do?

But Magnus beelines toward a computer – somehow still on by the grace of the angels – and types furiously. Alec peers around his partner for a better view of the screen; it's plastered with titles, many of which Magnus is scrolling past even if they can prove to be useful.

"I'm looking for a certain title," he explains as if reading Alec's mind, "but I don't remember the title or the author. I'll recognize it when I find it."

"Are you sure they'll have it?" Alec steps to the side, leans against the conveniently placed wall and watches Magnus work.

He pauses but not in his intense scrolling. "Well, no. If they don't, then we'll come back tomorrow and find something else useful."

Alec says nothing more, and instead continues to study the colorful man as his eyes narrows at the screen, deciphers titles, and mouths them as he continues. He tries to blink away from the sight, the sheer concentration he emanates, the way the computer screen shines against those eyes that he cherishes. He shakes his head and forces his attention to the floor.

At least it can't taunt him with unattainable hopes and aspirations. Just with a beautiful wood that he can't identify that complements Magnus's skin tone wonderfully and – Alec shuts his eyes.

There he goes, and he's going to pay attention to those dots and squiggles bouncing around the back of his eyelids. There's no way his sinful partner can worm his way back there!

"Ah ha!" that familiar voice cheers in triumph, deflating Alec with a sigh. That's right; there's this thing called sound. He peeks an eye open and studies him. With the smile on his parted lips, his green-ish eyes glimmering, and an overall glow, Alec presumes he's ecstatic.

"Did you find it?" He doesn't need to ask; he just wants the same confirmation as usual.

"Enough with the silly questions." Magnus plucks his phone from his pocket, poking it in what Alec assumes to be recording the book whereabouts. "Yes, I did. It shouldn't be too hard to find."

"Where is it?" Alec hasn't moved yet, but he's now completely watching his partner with both eyes open. It's not like he has a choice anymore unless he wants Magnus to think he's more awkward than he already is. Then again, he seems to take Alec's quirks in stride, so what can one more hurt?

Magnus's grin turns mischievous, which feels Alec with a pang mixed with an odd combination of fear and longing. "Top level. Come with me."

And with that he marches off without another word, leaving Alec to trail in his longer gait.

The trek to pick the one out of the mass of library books was easy enough – it was just getting there. When Magnus meant top level, he meant the fifteenth floor without a public access elevator. So while both were able to make it up okay, they're both taking a moment to regain their breath.

"Well that was… An adventure," Magnus pants in the good humor that he always has.

Alec shoots a glare in his direction, although he isn't near as winded as Magnus. "We're not doing that again."

"Aww, why not?" It's teasing, and Alec knows it, but his glare hardens.

"You're welcome to climb those stairs as much as you want to, but I'll wait on the ground floor next time."

Magnus, ever the mature man that he is, sticks his tongue out at Alec. If he has half a mind, he would play right back and return the gesture, but he doesn't. Instead he turns his eyes to the rows of shelves before them. Somewhere among them is the book that Magnus is searching for. He just needs to wait until the magical location knower is ready to re-embark on their very time-sensitive mission.

"Okay," Magnus states, righting himself once again. "Are you ready? It shouldn't be too far. We're in 1543, and we need 1567."

"What's it called?"

" _The Accords: A Brief History of the Shadowhunters and the Downworlders_ by Clare." Magnus prattles it off easily now. He smirks over to Alec. "I'll race you."

Alec musters his best father face as possible (Magnus is phenomenal at it). "We're in a library."

Magnus pouts. "No one'll know, and it'll be fun. Come on, Mister Grey Grumpy Guss."

A moment's hesitation. "Fine."

How can he say no to Magnus?

* * *

Magnus managed to check out the book. Alec attributes that to his sparkling (literally) charisma and flirtatious nature; he could probably make a noodle bend just by _looking_ at it. He peers up occasionally to see him flipping through the pages, comfortably lying on his hotel bed and most likely reviewing some of the more important dates and events concerning those two organizations and trying to find out what that symbol is exactly.

On his own lap is a file with a document that, although he hasn't read it yet, he can guess its contents. He's seen it with the other three victims, so it's probably going to be in this one, too. There's nothing new anymore, just connections to make or avenues to create (the findings haven't given them any to begin with). Alec shuts the file with a fatigued snap.

"I'll talk to a few of Victor's friends tomorrow and his boss," Alec decides aloud, although Magnus pays him no heed. Alec isn't going to admit it, but it peeves him slightly; Magnus never ignores him. "I suppose you can stay here and read your book all day tomorrow if you'd like."

Magnus gives him a lazy stink eye. "Go to sleep. You're getting cranky."

Alec huffs, which doesn't exactly help his case. He fights anyway. "Am not."

Magnus returns his eyes to the book and turns a page. "Don't argue with me. Go to sleep."

Alec's lips are pursed in irritation and defiance, yet he says nothing more. Maybe if he stays quiet Magnus will forget.

But all his hoping is for naught.

Magnus snaps the book shut and sets it on the table between their beds and sits up. "I will count again, and you remember what happened this morning."

So, in response, Alec goes for something obvious yet out there. "There's no blanket to pull off me."

Magnus, however, just laughs and rises to his feet. "No, but you do have this." He snatches the file away before Alec can save it or protest; really, he should have seen it coming. And there it goes with Magnus as he places it across the room.

"Magnus," he protests, but his partner is having nothing of it. Instead he wanders back to his own bed yet waits to relax on it once again.

"Your pajamas are still on your bed." Alec opens his mouth, but Magnus cuts him off with a finger and his voice. "If you don't, I will make sure that you can't get your hands on a cup of coffee tomorrow _and_ that my glitter stash somehow manages to spill into your bag. I wish you luck with your questioning."

"You wouldn't." His voice is challenging, but Magnus remains unfazed. He seems to be growing bored, which further annoys Alec. "And that'd be suicide for you.

Magnus snorts in amusement, yet he doesn't change much aside from that. "I've handled you in worse situations, so I think I can handle you there, so don't think I won't be so cruel."

Alec's lips are pressed together tightly, and he _frowns_ at Magnus – who has him leveled with the same bored expression. What are the odds that Magnus would actually follow through with that? Is it worth the risk?

No, not for his beloved coffee.

"Fine," he mutters, snatches his pajamas off the foot of his bed, and marches off to the bathroom.

Magnus smiles after him triumphantly, but, after the door quietly clicks shut, his face drops.

_He knows what the rune is_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two more chapters in this passive post I swear.
> 
> Good luck everyone.
> 
> Oh, and this chapter is from Magnus's point of view!

Magnus doesn't tell Alec what the rune is. He looks dead on his feet (or varying between his feet and his butt), and his ghastly complexion does nothing but emphasize the fact even more. Dark circles cling to the bottom of his bloodshot eyes, which bring out his stunning cerulean hue (that was the closest Magnus has ever come to accurately describing the color, but then he isn't even satisfied), but in a rather depressing manner. Magnus is having none of that, so he forced Alec to change out of his appallingly monochromatic attire and into his similarly monochromatic pajamas.

Seriously, that kid needs to learn the art of color.

So when Alec stumbles out of the bathroom stifling a yawn – not that he will admit it, stubborn guy – Magnus watches him intensely. Much to his pleasure, Alec nearly squirms under his gaze, but that isn't the purpose to his actions. Oh, no. He has his mommy game on right now, and he's making good sure that little Alec is in fact going to sleep.

And the good little child is with a grumbled, "Good night, Magnus."

Magnus in response purrs a victorious, "Good night, Alexander."

Despite Magnus's best efforts and success in getting his Lightwood companion into bed early and himself at a relatively decent hour, Alec's phone screeches at precisely 5:46 am. He's pleased it isn't his own and promptly buries his head under his pillow, yet it does very little to muffle the godforsaken cacophony demolishing his previously blissful slumber.

And then the sweet melody of Alec's voice pierces through the veil of horror, and he is saved. Magnus can't tell what his savior is saying – he's mumbling – but he doesn't sound terribly happy either. Eventually he hears the telltale snap of that antiquated phone and the reluctant creaking of the hotel bed.

Then there's a hand nudging his shoulder, and he can't help but note the irony in this. "Magnus."

Hopefully Alec doesn't catch it; he estimates his odds at a solid 50-50.

"Magnus, wake up. Sheriff Hodge called." The prodding continues. 25-75. "I know you're awake."

Magnus mutters under his pillow and peeks out. "Fine, but just so you know – you did have an opportunity for revenge."

The dawning that flashes on Alec's face is priceless, but Magnus is already up and moving triumphantly before he can do anything. Those cerulean (he really needs to find a better word) eyes follow him as he flits about the room in search of various garments and beauty items.

"Magnus, we don't have time." He notices that Alec's voice is still laced with sleep, and he smiles.

"Give me five minutes."

He can see Alec's hesitation, his thinking, and Magnus can accurately guess which stage of conceding he's in; he's very readable.

Three. Internal battle.

Two. He's losing.

One. He's lost, but he doesn't want to admit it.

"… Fine. Five minutes, and then I'm leaving with or without you."

Magnus's grin widens. "That's all the time I need, Alexander."

True to his words, Magnus was able to dress, freshen up, and complete his makeup in five minutes. He still relishes Alec's astonished expression when he strutted out of the bathroom with exactly 28 seconds to spare, and he used them to search for his practical yet stylish boots (who said they have to be mutually exclusive?). Sure, he would have preferred to have time to perfect his appearance, but at least this should be manageable for the day – or at least until he can do some finishing touches.

But now they're at the new scene, and this building is startlingly not as grandiose as they were expecting. All of the victims so far were of higher status; this one, from the looks of it, is your regular, run of the mill person. At least that's what the house says. It's two stories, painted white (which is starting to chip in some inconspicuous places), with a nicely tended yard that still isn't professionally done, and a detached garage is open, revealing a disarray within. The car – not that Magnus can see one – probably can't squeeze into the narrow space available. It's probably a dangerous, cramped walking path.

An officer stops them at the tape line which surprises Magnus. "You don't know us yet?" The disbelief is plain in his pitched voice, but he goes for his badge anyway. Alec mirrors him.

The officer merely presses his lips and shakes his head. Really, they're the agents who practically took over their poor little station and their most prolific open case. A revelation spreads on the officer's face as he scrutinizes Magnus's badge, and he finally speaks. "Ah, so you're Agent Bane. That must mean that's Agent Lightwood."

Magnus is smug. So he does know them after all.

"I just haven't seen either of you around. Can't know faces you haven't seen, ya know?" He gives an almost nervous shrugs then tugs the tape up, invites them under.

"Consider yourself blessed now." He has been christened with Magnus's (and Alec's) acquaintance. Alec, however, coughs, but Magnus suspects it's to cover a laugh. The cheeky guy.

"No, really, don't." Magnus turns mock-hurt eyes over to Alec, who's smirking.

Curse him.

And those eyes. "I know where you sleep."

He blinks them, mildly confused for a moment. "Of course you do. We're sharing a hotel room."

The officer cuts in, clipping him from a perfectly good comeback. "The crime scene's this way. 32 year old female by the name of Diane Kaissner. Nurse, a husband, two kids, no enemies."

"Your basic working family," Magnus concludes aloud, receiving an affirmative nod from the officer.

"Your basic working family," he repeats, and then the officer blinks over to Alec. Magnus's eyes follow (not jealously!), and he merely shifts under their gazes. He's probably thinking something along the lines of Why are they looking at me? Magnus prides himself in his ability to read his partner.

"What do you say?" he suggests in hopes of popping some of Alec's tension bubble. "You take the body as usual, and I talk to the family?"

Alec pauses for a moment, which Magnus has learned not to question, and then he nods. "Let me know what you find."

"You, too." And he waves him off, watching the gorgeous man retreat into the quaint house and sighing. He resists the urge to run a hand through his haphazardly (but still immaculately) spiked hair.

"Who hasn't anyone talked to yet?" That way he can give the others a break and hopefully surface some new information.

"There's a little girl of about five years old. She refuses to speak to anyone." The officer points to a small figure sitting cross-legged on the ground. She's tracing something into the ground with a stick, but what Magnus isn't sure, but he's certain her blue Care Bear pajamas will need to be washed before she wears them again. There'll definitely be little tree debris stuck to them.

He was able to get Alec to speak to him and somewhat normally, so how hard can a little girl be?

"I'll see what I can do."

Her hair is brown, not unlike the little twigs that will be clinging desperately to her pajamas, and under those woody bangs lie two foliage green eyes. Magnus can't help but be endeared by the earth child. Now only if she'll speak. He crouches down next to her and studies her drawing.

"What is it?"

He isn't quite sure what it is, so the question is in earnest, but he sees a bunch of circles. They're linked, touching, separated, broken, and in general disarray.

"Sounds."

Her voice is soft and shy, and she steals a peek at Magnus. It's very quick, though, and she adds yet another circle to her work.

Magnus raises a brow. "Sounds?"

She nods, not pausing in her doodling. "They're what I heard."

Magnus blinks at her. Did she catch something about what happened to her mom that morning? And so much for being hard to get to talk.

"What did you hear?"

Those leafy green eyes blink up at him, but she says nothing. He had to jinx it, didn't he?

She giggles. "Your eyes look like kitty eyes."

Magnus is taken aback for a moment, not expecting the turn, but he quickly smiles back at her. "That's what I hear."

"Are you part kitty?"

She must be a child version of Alec; he's compared him to a cat on numerous occasions, and he swears he is. Magnus, of course, doesn't believe him. He knows who his parents are – not that he's spoken to them recently – and the man is merely teasing. No, it's been quite a while.

"Can you keep it a secret?" His voice is lowered secretively, and the little girl is now practically buzzing with excitement. She nods enthusiastically.

"Promise!"

Magnus's smile grows. "I am."

She practically squeals in happiness and beams at him. "Can I call you Mr. Kitty?"

"As long as you keep it a secret that I'm really part cat." He knows the name would "reveal it", but he doesn't really care. If it makes her happy and gets her to open up, he's content.

"It's a deal!"

"Good!" he purrs. "Can you do Mr. Kitty a favor?"

She tilts her head, curious. Her drawing is forgotten for the moment. "Like what?"

"Can you tell me about what you heard?"

She ponders for a long moment, earthy green eyes calculating, studying, and then lighting up. "Okay! But just for you Mr. Kitty, because you're a kitty, and I really like kitties!"

If Magnus could cheer without ruining what progress he made on the child, he would. He, however, keeps his small smile (which is genuine; she's adorable), his kind eyes, and his calm demeanor. "I'm listening."

"I was asleep," she recounts, her high voice high as she speaks. "I don't remember what my dream was about, but I know Mr. Snuggles was with me when I woke up." She nods surely as she finishes that sentence, eyes on "Mr. Kitty".

"Who's Mr. Snuggles?"

The look she gives him is a mix of shock and horror. "He's my teddy bear and best friend!"

He really should have put the puzzle pieces together. Magnus is an agent; it's what he does.

"Of course! Mr. Snuggles!"

She looks unconvinced. "You don't know who Mr. Snuggles is!"

Magnus merely smiles at her. "You should introduce the two of us sometime. I'm sure we'd become quick friends. He is friends with you after all."

The edges of her lips curl up, but he can tell she's trying to suppress them. She probably wants to appear angry still, but it isn't terribly successful. The little girl is definitely one of the cutest things he's come across; if only the situation weren't as grave as it is.

"I will," she decides with a sure nod, her mousy brown her bouncing with the gesture.

It was a close save, and Magnus knows that, but now he just needs to steer the topic back to her story.

"So what happened when you woke up?" There. To the point.

The child blinks at him in confusion, and then dawning illuminates her face. "There was a loud bang from the living room. I didn't know what it was, so I kept Mr. Snuggles close and hid under my blankets. There were voices, too, but I don't know what they were saying. One sounded like Mommy, and I don't know who the other one was."

So she heard their suspect. "Can you describe the second voice?"

She glares at him and shushes him. "This is my story!"

"Sorry."

Her expression appears forgiving. "No interrupting! He was whispering, so I don't know." Male. "But then there were some more smaller bangs and some voices. They sounded like they were wrestling. I was too scared to get out of bed and find Daddy, so I stayed with Mr. Snuggles."

Magnus nods, sure not to interject this time.

"I stayed under my blanket forever, and then I heard footsteps, and then I heard Daddy talking, and then he came into my room. He looked scared, too."

Of course. He probably found just the body. She doesn't speak and continues with her drawing, so Magnus takes this as a moment to ask her a few lingering questions.

"Do you know anything else about who the other person may have been?"

It's doubtful, but there's still a slight chance she may have omitted something. The little girl merely shakes her head, not saying a word more.

"Did you hear any glass breaking? Anything that would show that the person broke in?"

She merely shakes her head again, focus intent on her drawing.

But he learned something from her – if her recollection is correct.

The victim likely knew the killer, and the killer's male.

"Thank you for telling me the story, and if you forgot anything, please let Daddy know. He'll contact me, and we can talk about it, okay?"

She nods, attention not wavering in the slightest from the circles. At least he got it out of her while she could. At the last moment, however, she blinks up to him. "Mr. Kitty?"

Magnus is on his feet again, and he's just now realizing how uncomfortable his sitting position had been. There were cricks in his knees and back, and he stretches just enough to relieve them slightly. "Yeah?"

"When will Mommy come back from the doctor?"

She points over to where Simon, the words Medical Examiner emblazoned on his back (although it's doubtful she can read it quite yet), is leading a team out with the body in tow. Magnus feels his stomach drop, and his mouth and mind work to form words in a rare occasion. How does he explain this to a child? Then again, this isn't his place.

"You should ask Daddy."

She presses her lips together in a pout, a gesture that vaguely reminds him of Alec at the moment, and looks up at him expectantly. "But I want you to tell me. I want to know now."

Magnus shakes his head in the slightest. "Daddy'll be able to tell you what's happening best. You should ask him."

Her pout grows, but she doesn't press him any further. Instead she resumes her drawing, effectively dismissing him. Magnus sighs, allowing himself the relief of running a hand through his hastily styled hair (even if it does mar its beauty), and starts toward the house.

The dad is going to have his hands full, and it's not going to be easy. Magnus isn't going to make it any easier for the father either; they're going to have to discuss the incident, too.

They're back in their loaned room, and Magnus is nearing calling it home. It's where their (Alec's) strewn coffee cups reside, where papers are a disorder and coating the table in the middle (a few on the floor as well), where Alec is resting his head on the table, where the walls are a bland and light grey, where the carpet itches, and where he remembers.

"Alec!"

The man in question tilts his head to the side just enough to bless him with the slightest glimpse of his cerulean eyes.

"Magnus!"

Magnus rolls his own eyes dramatically (he had to get his teasing exasperation across somehow!) and settles Alec with a semi-serious expression (he's trying!).

"I know what the mark is."

This pikes Alec's interest; he continues watching him instead of attempting his frustrated nap. "Well?"

Magnus reaches for his very-up-to-date phone and begins punching S-H-A-D into Google (it's a luxury Alec seems to despise; he doesn't know why). "It actually makes a lot of sense if you think about it. It's just now finding out why he wants to silence these people."

He pushes his phone toward his partner, who picks up the precious, useful device and stares at the screen. Alec's head is still on the table – or was on the table – until it shoots up at the sight of the screen.

"It's the quietude rune," Magnus explains, leaning back in his chair. It's steadily becoming more and more comfortable as time passes, but maybe that's just because they're getting used to the abysmally unforgiving chairs.

Alec is still staring at the screen, lips pressed tightly together. He doesn't say anything, which presses Magnus to continue to fill the silence.

"The Shadowhunters used it to, more or less, quiet their victims. So usually it was used to make a statement." Magnus watches Alec as he speaks, and then the latter pushes the phone back to him.

"Like you said, we just need to know why he – wait, he?" Alec's brow darts up behind his adorably shaggy bangs, and Magnus sighs slightly. Right, they hadn't gone over their scene findings yet. They really need to start doing that sooner after their little expeditions.

"Yeah. The little girl, she's about five, heard the whole thing from her room. She said it was a male voice." He watches Alec's grimace and his shake of the head, and he understands it completely. The daughter was much too young to have to go through anything like that and much less hear it. Then again, she didn't seem to understand the situation completely, leaving most of the burden on the poor, just widowed father.

"Did you find anything else out?"

Magnus rolls his eyes up to the ceiling in pondering, hums for a moment. "She didn't hear anything sounding like a break in, which probably means that either he found some quiet way in or the victim knew him."

Alec nods in acknowledgement, silent as usual.

"That's it for anything new if we're assuming what she says is true."

Alec's brow rises once again. "You don't believe her?"

Magnus chuckles. "I never said that. I'm just leaving room for fallibility, especially when a five year old is involved."

"You have a point." Alec shrugs, not necessarily in defeat but again in recognizing the point.

Magnus tilts his head slightly, studies Alec. He's tired still, although he doesn't appear as tired as he was expecting. Maybe it was the action-packed morning forcing him awake, or maybe it was the several cups of coffee that he's already consumed (not that it can replace sleep by any means). The dark circles under his eyes are still visible, but just barely, and drawing out that gorgeous blue even – Magnus is obsessed with that color, isn't he?

Right, they have a mission at hand.

"Alexander," Magnus sees him simultaneously flinch and redden at the use of his full name (an oxymoronic reaction if you ask him, but his partner's explanation does make perfect sense), "did you find anything?"

Alec reaches toward the coffee cup near him and is immediately disappointed by its lack of content. He keeps his eyes on the cup and begins. "It's the same. The mark, but this time on her torso, her crippled legs, little sign of entry, although there was more of a struggle scene this time. Some of the more suspicious pieces were sent to forensics, and they'll send us the results as soon as they can. Other than that, there's surprisingly little evidence. Whoever this is is thorough. Very thorough."

He draws his gaze up to Magnus and sighs. "I feel like we're running around in circles."

"No, we'll find him. Trust me. We still got information, and look! It's you and me, and frankly I think he should be scared. We're probably the best team out there."

Alec smiles in the slightest and then stretches. "Then what do you say, Member Two of the Best Agent Team in the United States?"

"Excuse me?" Magnus chuckles, now leaning forward in his chair. "Number Two? I think we all know I'm Number One."

"In ego perhaps. Then again, I think you'd have Jace for competition."

"Hey! He's not a part of the team!"

It's a very last minute trip, but if there's anything that can clear Magnus's mind, it's this. The colors that complement each other perfectly, the contrasting fabrics that mesh marvelously, the degrees of formfitting that bring out the best in every shape, and finding some way to blend them all to create, to display. That helps Magnus stabilize himself, especially after using a copious amount of mind power the last few days.

He flits through the garments before him, occasionally grimacing and sometimes pausing to admire quite the piece of work. It's rarely, however, that he finds something that absolutely beckons to him, although he's found one so far that evening. It's a golden shirt, a vibrant and flashy piece, but one that would look stunning under a jacket he brought with him; he now just needs to try it on to make sure it fits as it should. First, however, the agent must continue his search for treasures.

"Magnus," a familiar voice sounds behind him, and he lazily turns his gaze toward the source.

It's Isabelle, an ecstatic smile dancing upon her lips, and she holds up an item; her excitement is contagious, and the dress is truly a piece of art. It's the cliché little black dress, but it's a completely new take on the idea.

"You should try that on," Magnus decides, although he can already see that she's already made that choice.

"I thought you'd like it."

Magnus sighs. "If only it were socially acceptable for men to wear dresses."

Isabelle laughs and shakes her head, her ponytail waving with the movement. She shares the Lightwood ebony hair, the Lightwood paleness, although her brother and she have different eyes. They share the same warmth – when they want to – but the color is completely different. Hers are nearly as dark as her beautiful locks, yet Magnus can't help but note that – even though she is stunning as it is – Isabelle would somehow be moreso with the hue his partner inherited.

Magnus shakes his head. He was shopping to clear it, not have his mind wandering and pestering him with the typical case and partner issues. No, he's going to enjoy himself and return with a fresh and cleansed spirit.

It's certain.

"I think you could wear a dress and no one would bat an eye." She chuckles some more, and Magnus can't help but join. There's a grain of truth there, and he knows it.

"Of course not. People would be tripping over themselves for a piece of this," he gestures his body, "anyway. Maybe even more."

"Izzy," comes another voice, pulling both of their attention from the enlightening conversation at hand and to their third and final companion. "Magnus."

It's Clary, the officer Magnus met not too long ago. She's a sweet and feisty thing, and she shows little to no remorse when calling out issues or defending herself. If he were to pick out the strong, independent woman, it'd likely be between Isabelle and her – which is saying quite a bit as it is. Isabelle's put through a lot with the Lightwood antics and her career.

"I'm looking for something green," she states with a sure nod of her head and bounce of her flaming locks.

"If it's for Ja –"

"No. I feel like I need some more green in my wardrobe, but I don't know where to start."

Magnus exchanges a conspiring glance with Isabelle, who smirks at him, and they set off.

Clary is certainly going to find her green, and Magnus will happen to stumble across a familiarly colored blue scarf. It'll stun him at first that something can get so close to replicating the cerulean that he loves so dearly, and then he won't be able to help but purchase it for the possessor of those eyes.

The possessor who is similarly relieving his stress with his childhood friend at an archery range.

That night when Magnus returns to the hotel room he finds Alec sprawled out on the bed, clad in the day's attire yet eyes firmly closed. So Magnus clicks the door shut as quietly as possible, yet as the door shuts, one of Alec's eyes cracks open.

"Evening."

He subsequently recloses his eye and sighs on the bed. Magnus, however, wiggles his feet out of his boots and moves toward his own bed, bag in tow. It's been a long day, taxing on both the mind on body, so he plops down on it.

"Evening."

"You didn't torture my sister too much?"

Magnus scoffs. "Of course not! She practically begged to come with, and she will again!"

Actually it was more of a mutual agreement, but he wouldn't say so. Alec knows that already anyway.

"What was she thinking?" he bemoans, although a teasing affection is laced in the tone. Magnus smiles slightly, fondness washing over him suddenly.

"I don't know, but I think I owe her a thank you even if I did graciously allow her to tag along." He rolls over onto his stomach and watches Alec curiously crack an eye again.

"You found something, didn't you?" He detects a tinge of genuine fear. His fashion sense was outstanding, thank you very much; it was Alec who could use the reeducation on clothing rules. The grey, once black, sweater littered with holes should have been thrown away long ago; it probably shouldn't have been bought in the first place. The pants could probably be salvaged with the right shirt, but they're much too large for the agent. Not to mention the monotonous, colorless shirts he always wore.

Magnus's grin grows. "I did, and my favorite is for you."

Both of Alec's eyes shoot wide open, his mouth agape. "I – Uh – You didn't have to, you know," he stammers, probably a mix of that same fear (for whatever reason; he isn't about to glitter him if that's what he's afraid of), shock, and gratitude (the latter should be why).

Magnus shakes his head, digs into the bag. It's among his new purchases somewhere… Ah ha!

Triumphantly he pulls out a long cloth, pushes the bag aside. It's soft to the touch, and it'll likely be warm during the frigid winter months, too; the test shouldn't be too far off. Magnus then looks up to Alec, his grin still in place, and awaits the reaction.

His partner, however, is watching him, and he glances up. "What do you think? Here, take it." Magnus extends the cloth to Alec, who takes it almost tentatively at first. He's nervous, although he's not quite sure why, as he regards the investigation.

Fingers run over the soft fabric, all along its length, and similarly painted eyes take in the impressive work. "It's very nice. Thank you." Yet, even as he speaks, he doesn't draw his focus away from the piece.

Magnus considers this a success, even though his gift is colored. "It matches your eyes."

This prompts Alec to blink up at him in surprise, and then back down at the scarf. "Huh. I suppose you're right."

"Of course I'm right." It's hard not to forget that exact hue. "And it'll give you a bit of color aside from once-upon-a-time black."

"I like my clothes." His huff is adorably indignant.

"Of course. Silly me."

Alec hesitates a moment, most likely to emphasize that tone, and then mutters a "Thank you."

Magnus beams at him. "You're most welcome. I hope you like it." He receives the slightest of nods and smiles. "How was the range with Jace?"

Alec twirls the scarf around his hands, bites his lower lip for a moment. "It was good," he finally states with another, stronger nod. "We caught up. He's the same as ever."

Magnus snorts. "You mean the same arrogant prick I met a couple years back?"

"That's the one." His hands are still working the cloth.

"I hope you accidentally shot him." It's under his breath, yet not really caring whether Alec hears him or not. And he does if the startled expression is anything to go by.

"I'm not going to shoot him!" his tone is incredulous as well, as if Magnus is insulting him. Then again, his sentence probably could be interpreted that way as well.

So he shakes his head. "No, no, Alexander. I wish for his ultimate demise in a tragic accident not for your sudden lack of aim."

Yet the expression doesn't change in the least. "He practically my brother!"

Magnus waves the comment off. "Technicalities. You'd be better off without him."

"You're pretty much confessing to planning to commit a murder."

"Again. Tragic accident. No one's at fault in a tragic, freak accident."

Alec rolls his eyes, and Magnus smirks. The former's probably wondering why he has to be stuck with such a partner, while the latter's relishing the moment.

"How was your shopping date with Izzy and Clary?"

Alec's getting the topic off Jace's impending death, the conniving little man.

"I got you some color, so I'd say it was pretty successful."

"Uh huh. Anything else? There's still something in your bag." Not that Alec's probably interested; Magnus surmises that it's too keep his mind from more homicidal thoughts. Not to worry, though; that won't keep him from them.

Yet it still gives him a glorious opportunity to share his artful findings with the perhaps more skillfully crafted, beautiful man he calls a partner. There's the shimmering, gold shirt that he found, that he tried on, and that he was thoroughly satisfied with; there are the forest green pants that he later stumbled across while looking for Clary's splash of green, and they fit perfectly; then finally there's an uncharacteristically simple bracelet that he pulls out. All in all, it's a success, and Alec's lost interest in trying to appear enthusiastic. No matter; he already got this far.

"Magnus," Alec voices once he finishes replacing the items in his bag. He glances over at the man now sitting cross-legged on his bed, his lower lip between his teeth as per usual, and a tentative watch.

Magnus is slightly confused and would lie if he doesn't say concerned. "What's with the sudden change? No one died, right?"

Alec chuckles, runs a hand through his hair and doesn't bother to fix it again. "No, no one died, but we're having dinner with my family tomorrow. Someone's probably going to."

It's Magnus's turn to raise a brow. "You called them?"

"No." Alec shakes his head. "My mom called me and invited us – she didn't think it would be fair to leave you to fend for yourself."

For some reason Magnus laughs, and Alec joins in with him. "She's never met me."

"She's going to have a heart attack from the walking rainbow, although I think my dad's going to be worse." It's hilarious to Magnus; perhaps it's the irony of the situation. The whole case and personal problems surfacing are laden with irony; the Lightwood eldest underwent relationship issues that are continuing yet with his parents because of his sexuality, and yet their invited a rather flamboyant bisexual to dinner (although they are in the process of repairing it, but it's a slow one); the deaths that draw attention to silence; blood is full of iron, making it irony.

"Please be nice to them," Alec manages as his laughter dies enough, "but I think Max'll like you. He'll like anyone, and anyone'll like him."

Magnus wipes his wetting eyes, working to suppress the giggles that still seize him. "You talk fondly of him, so I'm sure I will."

They stay in the room that night, Alec reviewing some papers he snuck out of the office and Magnus with his book from the library. They make little more if any progress and with little chatter between them, Alec soon deciding that enough is enough and saunters off to prepare for bed. He states that there's little more that can be done that night.

Magnus nearly nods in response, not ripping his attention away from the book. So that leaves him lying on his bed, his pajama pants comfortably loose and forgoing a shirt that night, and waiting for Alec to reemerge from the bathroom. He knows it won't be that long – he's only brushing his teeth – but something hit him. He pauses, a page from his Shadowhunter book waiting to be turned, and his gaze unfocused on the 154 on the top corner of the page.

Why hadn't they thought of it before? They were professionals; it's embarrassingly obvious.

The pattering of feet on the linoleum and then carpet tears his gaze away from the number. There he is, pajama shirt and pants just as large and colorless as usual, and he sighs. Yet he doesn't comment on them; they're actually adorable on him, fit him, and if he's comfortable enough to sleep in them.

Right. He has a mission at hand. "Alec."

The man peeks over at him in curiosity, his brow raised and eyes intent on him. Yet he doesn't say anything.

"I was thinking. There are no signs of forced entry, which means, if there is really no forced entry, the victims know the killer."

"I thought we already established that." Alec sits on his own bed, yet doesn't opt to lie down quite yet.

Magnus shakes his head. "We did, but that's not the point. What if they all knew the killer and kept in contact with him? Do you think maybe there would be something like a phone record in common?"

Alec's mouth forms a wide "oh" as realization illuminates his pale face. "We can get phone records tomorrow."

"Sounds like a plan. Now go to sleep."

Alec settles him with a stern look and a huff. "You, too. You need your 'beauty sleep'."

Magnus chuckles as he turns his eyes once again to the ceiling. "Of course."

The line is long; it's the morning rush. There's a low hum rumbling throughout the small yet cozy establishment, and it's the same earthy-toned café as before that Magnus has grown accustom to. He can see why people would come back even being away for so long or even regularly just from that atmosphere alone.

Behind the register is a rather friendly looking woman who's chatting away happily with the customer not too far in front of him, but the interaction ends as soon as the transaction does. Then it's on to the next person who's engaged once again.

Even further back is a man bustling around the machines, pumping the occasional syrup into a cup, and periodically calling out a name. He doesn't speak any more than that even though it's evident he wants to – he looks frequently to the woman and her merry talking, to the customers, and toward social interaction. Then again, that's when he has the minuscule opportunity to do so.

Magnus remembers his days working in retail to make ends meet in college. He enjoyed his theoretical job and his coworkers – who wouldn't love helping people sort through an array of clothes for something that just goes with the person while goofing off with some friends? – but he cringes sometimes at the memory of certain customers. No matter how clearly a worker explains something, the customer just doesn't understand. Maybe it's from not wanting to understand, not having the capacity to, or even a mix – he doesn't know. Yet sometimes they were fun to mess with (but only when the manager wasn't looking).

A moving line and a voice shakes him from his thoughts, and he blinks at the kind woman. Her dark, toffee eyes are on him, and Magnus smiles. He likes his job far too much to go back to retail or farther down on the food chain – food service.

"Can I help you?" Her voice his high and warm, oddly fitting for such a place.

Magnus doesn't miss a beat despite being pulled back into awareness. "Can I get a plain coffee and a hazelnut cappuccino?" However Alec can stand his coffee so plain, so lacking flavors to enhance the coffee's, to make his taste buds dance is beyond him, yet he insists.

"A plain coffee and a hazelnut cappuccino!" Magnus nods. "Can I get you anything else today?"

He shakes his head now in response. "That's it!"

The woman punches a few buttons on her machine before her and then peers back up at Magnus. "I just noticed – where did you get your contacts? They look really good!"

A smile dances on his lips. "No contacts."

She blinks at him again, but this time impressed. "You're lucky, and you have a great taste in fashion. Just saying, not everyone can pull of what you do."

"Are you hitting on me?" Magnus raises a brow, blunt, yet not a hint of malice in his voice. Just questioning and amusement.

The woman shrugs, unabashed, and hits what's probably the "total" button on the register. "If it's working. It's seven fifty."

Magnus pulls his wallet out of his pocket, a quick and smooth movement, and digs in it for a ten. It isn't that hard of a search, and then he hands the bill over to the barista. She makes quick work of returning the change, and she smiles at him.

"So how did it work?" She raises her brow flirtatiously. "I've seen you come in here often enough the past couple of days."

Magnus hesitates for a moment (what could it possibly hurt? It wasn't like he wasn't in a relationship by any means), and then he shakes his head. "Sorry."

She looks a little disappointed, but she recovers quickly. "That's okay. I figured. Your coffee should be ready quickly."

And so that's his dismissal, not that he's complaining, and he wanders off to the side.

Magnus drops a stapled stack of papers on the table, causing Alec to jump and whip his started attention to his partner, and sets the carrier with the two coffees on the table. "Hello, sunshine. I have caffeine and information for you, which should brighten your day a little bit." He doesn't state it out of fear of embarrassing Alec into not wearing it more, but he's wearing the scarf. The gorgeous blue is wrapped around his neck, drawing more attention to that same blue of his eyes; it looks better than he was anticipating, and he feels his stomach nearly flip within him. Yet, above all, he's pleased that Alec is actually wearing it especially considering that it has more color than the rest of his wardrobe combined.

Alec blinks, the unbattled veil of drowsiness clear in the way he slouches more than usual, watches him lazily. Magnus's eyes follow his as he glances toward the caffeine, his expression changing to something akin to gratitude. "Thank you," he states and scoots closer. "Which one's mine?"

Magnus plucks the one without the little stirring straw in it and sets it in front of Alec. "This one. Now drink up. Turns out it was easier to get phone records than I was thinking, and here they are. All of them for the past month."

Alec's eyes are closed as he takes his first sip, most likely scalding himself in the process, but he looks satisfied when he opens them once again. The drowsy air isn't dissipated yet, but it's working on it already. "Have you looked at it yet?"

Magnus shakes his head slowly, then taps the top of the pile with his fingers. "Haven't had the time to yet. I called Clary to see if this would be possible, she said yes, then I went to get coffee, came back, and she jumped me with this." He taps the packet a bit more forceful than before with those last few words.

Alec nods as he listens, his expression now unreadable. "She's a good worker."

Magnus nods in agreement. "A very good worker. I was impressed."

"Well, let's see what's inside."

Magnus smiles slightly and nods. "Let's."

And he is subsequently reminded why he hates numbers so much. For five victims there are a lot of phone calls, some more than others. The mother, however, had accumulated at least three hundred calls within the last month on her cell phone alone; her work phone is another story entirely; the younger woman, Camille, had amassed many more texts than calls, creating blocks of unchanging numbers. He is unfortunately stuck with Camille's and the man's; Alec was kind enough to take the spare due to the sheer length of her file.

And so they sit and work in silence for what feels like hours (but it's nowhere near that). His own cappuccino is long gone; Alec's long ago inhaled his own black version. Yet his partner luckily seems to be completely in the world of the awake and is headlong in his own work, occasionally crossing out or highlighting tidbits among the now torn apart, splayed mass of papers.

Magnus rubs his temples, taking a moment to close his eyes and save them from the sea of never-ending numbers. He's drowning in it. He hears Alec sighs unconsciously as he works, and he peeks up at him. He his lip pulled up between his teeth as he's working, gnawing on it and most likely completely unaware of the habit. A few strands of hair fall over his eyes, yet they don't obstruct his view because of his head's angle. The rest of clasped together; his head is resting in a hand as he works, and short tufts of black poke out from between the two appendages.

The sound of pen on paper pierces the silence as he crosses off yet another number.

This would probably be easier if they just used a computer. Why hadn't they, and why aren't they? It might just be easier to switch over now. That thought, however, is shoved aside as Alec lets out a small gasp. It isn't a revelation sort of gasp, but one that comes when something pleasant yet unexpected arrives. He straightens, going between two of the three documents, and then pulls the third closer and flips through it.

Magnus is watching in curiosity, hoping desperately that what Alec may have found might be their key out of this traitorous work. His cerulean eyes scan the sheets, flipping through them, and then they stop, and small, relieved smile radiating.

He looks up at Magnus, blinks in surprise to find him starting at him, but then his beautiful smile grows. "I found a number in common, and they all call it often."

"I'll see if they're in my victims'. What's the number?"

The sooner they can get this leg done the better.

And so Alec prattles it off, Magnus scribbling it down for reference, and begins scanning his own walls for that number.

It doesn't take long for him to notice it popping up frequently in both.

"Yeah, it's here."

He turns his green-gold eyes back to Alec and smiles, bathing in the same relief. They have a number, one that they can investigate, and they're going to use a computer somehow if they have to do this again. Magnus'll have to tell Clary to email her anything else she gives them, but now they need to get information on that number.

Alec is second guessing the decision.

It's obvious from the way he worries at his lip, nearly making it bleed; the frequency in which he shoves his hand through his unsalvageable, disastrous hair; the manner in which he isn't able to hold still and his constant pacing or fidgeting; and the worrisome negligence of his coffee.

Magnus is watching him, observing, yet contemplating the best course of action. Alec's a nervous person, he knows that, and this is one of the moments where it's shining through – and understandably so.

"Alexander," he tries, prompting the shifting man to look at him, a brow raised questioningly and his lip dropping back into place. "You're making me nervous, and that's saying something."

Alec sighs and drops his gaze. "Sorry. It's just been a while since I've seen them, and I don't know how tonight's going to go."

Magnus is familiar with the story. He was there when everything happened, so he pulls himself up from his bed and sits next to Alec. He bumps their shoulders together reassuringly.

"It's going to be fine. They want their eldest back just as you want your parents back. It's not going to be perfect – you can't expect anything like that from a Lightwood," except the anxious one next to him, "because we all know what happens. But I can tell you that it will still make things better, and you want to see Max, don't you?"

Alec nods after a moment's hesitation, and then he grumbles to himself. "I'm twenty-six, and I'm acting like I'm a teenager."

A laugh forces its way out of Magnus's throat, startling Alec who then

nudges him rather sharply. "It's not funny."

"You're pouting."

Alec turns his head away quickly. "Am not."

Magnus sighs, but fondness fills it and his tone. "You're such a child."

Alec peeks over to him silently, and Magnus swears he's almost glaring at him. "Am not."

Magnus laughs again, bumps shoulders with his partner and runs a hand through those raven locks. He's triumphant at sneaking a little glitter in there – just enough to know he managed it, but not enough for it to be obvious. Not only that, though, he has a moment to relish how soft they actually are. How that happens when the man only uses a cheap, generic shampoo that smells mildly of apples surprises him.

A smile breaks out and, although he knows Alec isn't not going to be nervous, Magnus knows that Alec can handle the evening ahead of them.

And he hopes Alec knows it as well.

Because the Lightwoods have a chance at mending the situation. There will be scars, yes, but they still have a chance.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more (for now)!
> 
> We're back to Alec!

Alec doesn't hold still much during their taxi ride to his parent's house, and he says less than usual. Instead he shifts, fidgets, twiddles his thumbs, bites at his lips, runs his hand through his now unsalvageable hair, checks the time, checks his phone, bounces his leg, does something – anything – to keep moving, repeat. It's as if he hopes his constant flitting, nearly vibrating state can will away negativity. It does the opposite, and even Magnus is now absently biting at his previously flawless nail, silent.

When they finally do arrive, Alec's surprised to find that the house is much the same. He peers over to Magnus, to gauge him, but finds his partner staring at the building in a stunned manner. He supposes he could understand why; he does come from a fairly well-off family regardless of how little he mentions it, and Alec surmises that it's more well-known than he's aware of – if his few interactions with some people over his life are any indication. Yet the house before them towers three stories and spans a great deal. Its foundation is stone, and the walls are beautifully crafted up with ivy draping artistically across expanses of wall, leading down to meticulously tended gardens. The lawn is just as carefully kept – cut to a reasonable length regularly; it's every other day if nothing's changed. It's a lifestyle that's much too lavish for him.

Alec squeezes through the gate shielding the home from unwanted visitors, Magnus following closely behind, and they make their way up the mosaic path. He would argue that it's gaudy, but he's certain Magnus and his family would state otherwise. So he's kept his mouth closed on the subject. The door's a nicer, rich brown. It approaches far too quickly for Alec's tastes, he feels his knees trembling as he walks, and he tugs at his scarf nervously. It's his good luck charm for the evening – and he's sure he noticed a pleasantly surprised smile when he wrapped the soft article around his neck.

And then he stops, the portal into his past right there in front of him. Waiting. Speaking (or is that just his mother?).

With one final glance back to his partner, who was kind enough to tone down his wardrobe slightly that morning, Alec presses the varnished, deep wooden door open, knocking and calling out as he did so. He's not sure if he's anxious or sick at the moment, his stomach is in his throat, but he somehow manages to gulp. A hand falls on his shoulder, kneading it comfortingly, before retreating as footsteps clapped through the entryway. Alec mourns the loss of the reassuring contact.

"Alexander!" It's a proud, proper woman who he's definitely the son of. She scrutinizes her son, her expression blank as she does so, and she turns it toward the second guest. If Alec didn't know Magnus any better, he'd say that his expression is also neutral – but that's also what his partner's likely going for. Whatever he's feeling, Alec can't figure out, as his mother snaps him out of the analysis. "Mr. Bane."

Alec croaks for a moment but manages to affirm her question with a quick, "Yes, that's Magnus." It's then that he realizes that it wasn't a question but more of a statement.

Magnus extends a hand. "It's a pleasure to work with your son, Mrs. Lightwood."

A polite smile works its way onto her thin, previously pursed lips. "It's been a while, hasn't it, Mr. Bane?" Her voice, however, remains its typically tight self.

And they shake on those first words, their grip seemingly tight and firm, a brisk handshake, and they separate. Alec, realizing how quick and shallow his breaths had become, takes in a deep breath and exhales it slowly. It does little to help his hammering pulse; his mother and Magnus know each other from somewhere. When and how would that be possible? Sure, he's talked about them to Magnus (especially after what happened), and he's sure Isabelle, Jace, or Clary's mentioned Magnus to his parents. Did they meet up when he didn't know? Did they run into each other randomly on the street one day? How? Alec's certain he feels his heart race faster in his chest, and it's Maryse who pulls him out of his stupor.

"Dinner's almost ready, so both of you to the dining room. Isabelle and Max should already be there." Mrs. Lightwood turns her attention once again to Alec, her authoritative air enveloping her once again, yet a small hint of warmth and something else – something like Magnus's expression that he can't identify – leaking through.

Alec nods quickly in acknowledgement, turns an inviting glance over to Magnus, and marches the familiar route toward the dining room, depositing his light coat and scarf on a chair along the way. There's no doubt in his mind that his partner is trailing behind like Eurydice and studying the house with a mix of awe, curiosity, perhaps a hint of surprise, and _what else was it?_

It's only when they make it to the living room that he looks back – the very feat Orpheus was unable to complete – and finds Magnus taking in the dining room; he shifts uncomfortably and peers over to Isabelle.

"Hello, Izzy," he greets, although he's disappointed to find that Max isn't present – contrary to what Maryse thought. He doesn't deflate, though, because his nerves continue to zip through his veins and he knows he'll still be able to see his dear brother.

"Hey there, Alec. Glad to see you made it," she smiles. "You both made it."

Magnus snorts. "Of course we'd make it! Do you think I'd let your brother talk us out of it? And actually seeing the infamous family? Of course not!" Well, he seems back to one hundred percent.

"Magnus," Alec warns, suddenly dreading the night even more. Is that even possible with all that's transpired so far?

"Best behavior. Right. I know," Magnus sends him a reassuring smile, but it unfortunately does very little. The butterflies already flapping now throw themselves around in his stomach madly, which is most likely cause of the slight nausea he's feeling. Alec swallows, hoping to assuage the feeling.

It does very little.

"Alec!" a lower yet still very recognizable voice exclaims from the doorway, and the man in question spins. It's indeed his youngest brother. The butterflies relent in the slightest.

"Max!"

He's the same kid Alec left behind years ago, just much more grown up. His glasses are perched on his nose, ready for whatever novel or comic book he decides to pick up next; his eyes are curious behind the frames; and a sort of eagerness permeates his being. Alec remembers and knows it as the excitement to learn and discover.

"It's about time. I was going to have Isabelle help me make a search party for you, you know." He's definitely grown up.

Alec merely offers a timid smile and replies, "Looks like you don't need to do that anymore."

"I still want to make a search party," Max mumbles to himself as he seats himself, scrutinizes the other three curiously. "And he must be Magnus Bane. Izzy's talked about you." At least he hasn't met his partner.

Magnus blinks, surprised. "Really now?" Isabelle's grinning, opting to stay silent, but clearly content with the way the conversation's going.

"Mhm. Basically she's said you're close with Alec, and that she really likes you." He shrugs. "She thinks you're good for him."

Alec wishes more than ever that there were a more discrete part of the room he could vanish into, but he knows a hunt would be futile. After spending the first portion of his life there, he knows all the hiding places ranging from feasible to best; there are none in the room.

They're interrupted then by the sound of clattering pots, the oven door thumping open, and then hasty steps toward the living room.

"Sit," Maryse orders as she hurries a steaming pot toward the table, startling the chatting quartet. The aroma of chicken and herbs follows, suspended in the air and infiltrating their noses, and Alec realizes truly how much he missed his mother's cooking. It's perhaps one of the only things he really misses, and he reminds himself that it's best he left. Definitely.

And he sits with Magnus on his left and his mother soon to be on his right at the head. Maybe he shouldn't be stuck between them, and he mentally kicks himself for thinking that it's some grand scheme. Then again, he isn't sure what to think.

And then his father enters the room, strides to his chair. "Ah, Mr. Bane," he states when he notices him, and Alec presses his lips into a thin line. "It's been a long time. You must be Alec's partner. Imagine that."

Magnus chuckles amicably and nods. "It has been a while, and I am. It's a pleasure to be working with him." Same old formulaic response.

And Alec's finally had enough between his parents and partner and his own internal prodding. "It's obvious you know each other, but _how_?" His tone is harsher than he intended, causing at least Magnus to glance at him, bewildered, but he remains determined to know.

"Oh, uh, I worked a case with them before we were paired." Magnus's response was simple, and Alec's unsure whether it helped or not. Wait, when were his parents involved with the FBI? It was probably when he was attending college, but why didn't he ever at least hear a murmur? Or from his siblings at least? Did they know? Questions came to mind faster than he could keep up with them, so he's left staring at Magnus, and Maryse, at Robert, and then down to his plate.

"Right."

There's a silence that stretches the span of a couple seconds, and then it's Maryse who hurriedly breaks it. "Well, serve up before it gets cold!"

And they do, Alec caught between heaping the food he missed so much onto his plate and his situational diminished appetite. So he settles with serving up a little more than he thinks he can eat, a bad idea he knows, but he can roll back to the hotel if need be. That and it'll give him an excuse to remain semi-silent as the meal trudges forward.

Yet no such luck is bestowed upon him. "Alexander," he flinches at his name, "how is Pennsylvania treating you?"

Alec chews and swallows as quickly as he can, the delectable chicken sliding down his throat wondrously. "It's good. I have a nice apartment, I make plenty to get by and save, I have a cat, and I have a good job. I can't complain." Save a certain partner he's currently miffed with. He inhales another mouthful of scrumptious food.

Robert seems satisfied with the answer, but Maryse doesn't seem content with the shallow response. "That sounds nice. Have you found anyone?"

Alec isn't sure whether she intentionally left the question gender neutral or not, and he fidgets uncomfortably in his chair. "I – No, not really. No."

Maryse tsks with a "Shame". Robert points toward Alec with his fork, and mutters something incomprehensible to Magnus – who erupts in laughter.

"Mr. Lightwood," he manages to catch his breath, a shocked family staring at him incredulously, "I'm a bit of a freewheeling bisexual myself. I assure you that isn't an issue."

Robert sputters, stabs another bite of chicken, and begins chewing at it much more attentively than need be. Maryse's mouth is working, searching for something to say, but she eventually closes it. Neither Isabelle nor Max seem to care, although they look uncomfortable in the atmosphere, and Alec's sinking deeper into his chair. Why, oh, why did he agree to have dinner with his parents?

* * *

When they return to the hotel room that night, Alec kicks off his shoes silently, shrugs out of his outerwear, and hastens toward the bathroom. He's just as quick there to brush his teeth, change, and do his business, and he barely looks to Magnus throughout the process. Alec knows Magnus is watching him, but he tries not to let it bother him too much. No, instead he purposefully goes to his bed, lies down, and flops away from the man. There. Take that. And then he hears Magnus sigh along with the creaking of his bed.

"Alec," he tries, most likely pointedly using his preferred nickname. Good on him, and now Magnus is most likely more cognizant on why he likes "Alec" more than "Alexander".

Yet Alec childishly doesn't respond.

So Magnus tries again. "Alec, talk to me."

Is his tone pleading?

So Alec turns over enough to pin Magnus with what he hopes in an unamused glare. Much to his delight, Magnus flinches slightly as he so rarely does.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Point number one on why he isn't the happiest with Magnus.

"Tell you wha –? Oh, that I've met your parents." Alec nods, unrelenting in his scowling, and Magnus shrugs. "It was really only that one case, and I never made the connection that they were your parents. I should have, really."

"What was the case about?" Why would his parents interact with on-duty agents, anyway?

"That's confidential, and it's not important," he says quickly, and Alec looks unconvinced. "Go to sleep."

"You just told me to talk to you." He has other points, too!

"We did, now go to sleep. You look like you could use it."

And now there's one more.

* * *

It's noon, and Alec finds himself alone, coffee between his wintery pale fingers and icy eyes staring through a window. There's a room before him, in it a person seated behind a table, leaning back in his chair lazily. The man looks around the room with disinterest, perhaps out of boredom, and tilts backward. Alec tightens his hands around his blissfully warm beverage and sips at it, contemplating and waiting.

It's currently nine o'clock in the morning, and Sheriff Starkweather is finding him some final details for the upcoming interrogation. Well, interrogation may not be the best word – perhaps something a bit more along the lines of aggressive questioning. Magnus, for some reason, passed up this process this morning – which is especially odd because he nearly never leaves investigation involving social interaction to him alone. Alec snorts into his mug; he'll show his partner he's more than competent in questioning ranging from mouse-like passive to rhino-like aggressive. No need to worry now or in the future, and hopefully that'll mean fewer bodies on the crime scene.

Alec's lips press into a thin line as he thoughts are pulled back to Magnus. He's not angry with the man per say, but he'd admit to feeling irritated, agitated, miffed, frustrated, and perhaps a bit hurt. Sure, the dinner wasn't a _complete_ failure, but it could have gone significantly better, and he's fairly certain Magnus is hiding something.

Alec sighs deeply and grumbles something incomprehensible under his breath, straightens himself. The door clicks open; it tears his attention from his thoughts and toward the newcomer.

"Here are the last few papers you requested," Sheriff Starkweather states as he extends a small bundle of sheets toward Alec. He takes them gratefully and scans them. Perfect.

"Thank you." He tucks them into the file on his lap, rises to his feet. "I'll start now."

"You do that."

He deposits his fall jacket and scarf on the chair, sure to keep his coffee in hand, and rises.

When Alec enters the room, the man looks up expectantly. "Mr. Dubois," he greets with a nod and sits. The man settles him with a nervous, brown gaze and fiddles with the edge of the table. "I'm Alexander Lightwood with the FBI. I'm just going to ask you a few questions if that's okay."

Dubois drops his eyes to the table between them and nods; Alec flips open the file before him. "Am I in trouble?"

Alec raises a brow. "Not unless you hide something from us."

Dubois sighs and thumps forward in the chair. "Okay."

The agent shifts through a few sheets, inhaling deeply, before starting. "For the record, what was your relation with Mr. Campbell?"

He places his elbows on the table, chin on his folded hands, and speaks. "We were coworkers. He was probably one of the best accountants we've had for a long time, and it's been very hard on the whole team." A sigh.

"Were you close with him?"

Dubois nods. "We were friends outside of work, too. We would go golfing every Saturday afternoon."

"We're going to change pace a little bit," Alec glances down to his file, to the data before him. "I'm going to ask you some questions about work if that's okay. We think we may have found a link between that and his murder." It isn't a complete lie – they had noted his astounding work ethic – but it's not the main reason they have him there.

He's an invaluable resource, having a glimpse into the man's family, work, and social life. Perhaps even yielding different information than his widow. They'll see, though.

"Oh, god, you're serious?" He visibly gulps, shifts in his chair nervously. "You don't think it's someone else who –"

"We can't be sure. Not yet at least."

"But the other murders in the string –"

"Again," Alec insists, "we can't be sure."

The man sighs again, toying more frantically with the edge of the table. "Okay."

"Great. First can you tell me if Mr. Campbell had any enemies in the office? Anyone he didn't get along with or who would want him harmed?"

The man appears to be near shaking, yet he plays more with the table's edge. "I don't think so. No, everyone looked up to him as a father figure."

"So no one?"

Dubois shakes his head. "Not that I know of."

"Okay." Alec pulls four sheets out of the file, pushes them toward the questionee. "Can you tell me if any of these faces are familiar?"

Dubois pulls them toward him, scans them, and then shakes his head. "No, not at all. Do you think they're suspects?"

It's Alec's turn to shake his head. "No, they're the other victims." He can see dawning flash on Dubois's face as light shock. "Now back to work. Mr. Campbell's been working overtime, right?"

The man raises a brow, still-nervous eyes rising to meet Alec's. "I don't think so."

"You don't think so?"

"No. I'd know – I'm usually in the office after hours – and he always comes in and leaves on time. He never does any overtime." The man appears utterly confused and, mixed with the terror and nerves the poor man must feel, Alec feels sorry for him.

"His wife told us he works overtime frequently, and she feared for his health because of it. We now have two conflicting stories."

The man shrugs, appearing at a loss. "I don't know what to tell you, sir. I can double check if you'd like, but I'm fairly certain Roger hasn't been working overtime."

"Please do that, Mr. Dubois."

* * *

It's when Alec's meandering down the street, freshly bought lunch in hand, that something hits him. Really, it should have become clear long ago, and he wonders if Magnus thought of it, too. He wouldn't doubt it, and he wouldn't doubt he would hide it, too.

The man seems to be hiding a lot of things, or at least prolonging telling him some important information on the case or life. Alec wonders if it's something Magnus is doing on purpose, if he doesn't realize it, or if he's just being oversensitive. If nothing else, the man's been acting funny as of late.

Alec nibbles at his lower lip. Really, why were they brought _to New York_ when there are likely a multitude of other agents in the area who are just as if not more competent and experienced than both of them (to be honest, he assumed it may be because of their connections with the station and area, but he doubts it more and more)? And, if Magnus is truly hiding something more, why would he? They're partners, and they're supposed to tackle whatever obstacles they may face together.

He clutches the paper bag in his hand tighter, the material crinkling and crumpling under his fingers.

* * *

Alec's nibbling on his sandwich. It's bland, gritty, and the vegetables are rather mushy, but it's food. It combats the gnawing and garbling of his ravenous stomach, and it gives him energy to keep reviewing information. That and the cooling coffee at his side doesn't hurt. He takes another small bite of the mediocre sandwich, chews thoughtfully, and flips another page over. The next is the image of Victoria, carved and bloodied, and he quickly moves on to the next.

There's something with the latest man's "overtime", but it's finding out what it is. The number holds the key most likely, but neither Clary nor Jace have gotten back to them on phone information. Perhaps there's some other outing that the other victims frequented that wasn't mentioned. Then again, the "overtime" may just be covering up some more embarrassing or incriminating pastime. Yet it would do more harm not to go down that avenue than to.

He swallows just as the door creaks open, yet he doesn't tear his wavering attention away from the file and his thoughts. Steps tap steadily louder until the stop at the same chair as usual, and its creaking alerts him of the person's sitting.

"Alexander," the voice, warm and concerned, attempts.

Alec resigns himself to sighing and settling Magnus with a hard stare. "Yes, Magnus?"

"Talk to me."

Not this again.

"Okay," Alec starts, snapping the folder before him shut. "The coworker this morning said that Mr. Campbell was not working overtime." He observed as Magnus's expression switched between the worry to shock and confusion to frustration. "So that means our victim was somewhere else during that time, and we need to find out where. We should also see if there's something similar with the other victims be it overtime, a sport, friends, whatever. If you'd like, I'm sure Sheriff Starkweather has video of the questioning somewhere. Or maybe a transcript."

"Alexander…"

"That was the highlight of it, though, and I've been going through what we have again while waiting for Jace or Clary to get back. We need the information about the number, right?"

Magnus nearly growled in frustration. "Alexander Lightwood, you're avoiding the subject."

Alec snorts in response, mutters, "I'm not the only one."

Magnus blinks in shock. "I'm not avoiding anything."

Alec signs and shakes his head slightly. "Dubois also said that Mr. Campbell was very secretive. Not just with whatever 'overtime' he was doing. Just in general. It's one person's description, but I think it needs mentioning."

Magnus appears unhappy with the subject change again, but he lets it go this time. "You think he's involved in something."

Alec nods. "I think he was _actively_ involved in something."

"It makes sense." Magnus shrugs nonchalantly, eyes toward the ceiling as he ponders it. "The number in common – if it checks out – with Campbell's 'overtime' and the runes and the little girl's unawareness with her mother. If he's involved, it might not be so far-fetched to assume that the others were."

A knock resounds in the room followed by the creeping entry of Clary. "Hey, you two. I have the scoop on the number you asked for." She brandishes a few papers stapled together in the air. "Everything you could possibly ask for is in here, but it's not that much. It's probably just a cheap, disposable cell."

"Thanks, Clary," Alec states. He's relieved about her entrance, how she's suspending the tension between Magnus and him, and how she's giving them a new avenue of discussion.

He's also wondering if he's becoming a hypocrite. He was (is?) angry with Magnus earlier about potentially hiding things, so wouldn't it be the same if he hid his annoyance? No, it's different he assures himself. He surmises Magnus was prolonging telling him facts about the case (he has and is with his past), and he's convinced he still is. Alec's just hiding his frustration with it. They both have different reasons, different outcomes, and he's in the clear. Or maybe he should stop trying to justify it.

He nearly groans, but stops himself in time. Instead he exhales heavily, deflating, as he watches Magnus take the sheets from her; he's nearest after all.

"Also," she adds as she nears the door, "Isabelle wants to go back to Pandemonium tonight. You both up for it?"

Sleep and downtime are becoming a rare luxury during this investigation, aren't they? Yet he glances to Magnus – who's looking back at him – and hesitates before nodding. Angel save his soul.

"Yeah, we'll be there."

"Great. See you there, and talk about whatever's happening here. You can cut the tension with a knife."

Alec purses his lips as he watches Clary retreat into the hall, firmly shutting the door behind her. When it's closed, he shoves a hand through his hair, and he turns his attention back to Magnus.

Those enticing eyes are on him, and he's suddenly aware of the odd electricity running through his veins. He shifts slightly in a vain attempt to repress it, but it does elicit a small smirk from Magnus. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about whatever's bothering you?"

Alec shakes his head quickly, perhaps too quickly, and drops his gaze to Clary's gift from the heavens. The phone documents. He then nods toward them. "We should start on that."

Magnus hesitates a long moment, thinking, and then begins scanning the first page. "Fine. But, again, know I'm here."

"Right."

Magnus says nothing more on the subject, although Alec's sure he's merely biting his tongue. Instead the man begins paraphrasing the treasure before him.

"Clary's right. It's a cheap, disposable cell under the name of Jonathan Circle." He snorts, a small smile tracing his lips. "Odds that's a fake name?"

Alec's brow shoots up inquisitively. "I don't understand."

"Oh, right. 'Jonathan' is a very generic name like 'John Doe', obviously, and 'Circle' probably refers to 'the Circle'. It was a faction that split off of the higher level 'Clave'. It thought the Clave wasn't doing all it could against the Downworlders. No one's quite sure what happened to them after the fall of the Shadowhunters and Downworlders, but I think the general consensus is that it was either destroyed or disbanded in the process." Magnus, somehow, is able to prattle that off in one breath, which Alec absentmindedly finds admirable. That and he's much more knowledgeable on the subject than he lets on; something begins to sit heavily on his stomach once again.

"I thought you said both were gone after the fall. Doesn't some small group that may or may not still be around count?"

Magnus chuckles. "It seemed highly unlikely that there was any chance of the Circle surviving, and, if they did, they did a fabulous job at remaining hidden."

"How likely is it that they are still around?"

Magnus shrugs, weighing the question carefully. "There still is a possibility. There's a much greater possibility than either the Shadowhunters or the Downworlders."

"How likely is that they might be active?"

Magnus exhales heavily, rolls his astounding eyes to the ceiling in thought. After a moment, he finally blesses Alec with his gaze again. "To be honest, I don't know."

"So it's something we can't rule out."

"So it's something we can't rule out," Magnus repeats in resignation, returning to the papers.

* * *

"One large coffee – black – and a large cappuccino."

Thank the angel it's his turn. After waiting in line for an _ungodly_ fifteen minutes while suffering from a harsh caffeine crash, his saving grace has finally come. Unfortunately for him, it's not his favorite coffee place (that's currently closed for an unposted reason), but it's still pretty decent. Yet his saving grace is a man, blond hair paired with the darkest eyes, who smiles back at him not unkindly.

"One large black coffee and a large cappuccino," he repeats, taps the order into the register. "That'll be eight-twenty."

Alec already has the ten ready, he's had the bill ready for the past several minutes, and he passes it over.

"You look dead on your feet," the man notes, and Alec responds with a nod and a stifled yawn.

"Busy day, but I'll be fine once I have my coffee." It's true. The very elixir will revitalize him and ready him for the rest of the night.

The barista counts the change, slips the door shut, and hands him back his change. "I wish you luck. Name?"

Alec blinks as he takes the bill and coins. "My name?"

"So we can call for you when your order's ready."

Right. "Oh, uh, Alec."

"Short for Alexander, I presume. Nice name. Anyway, _Alec_ , your order'll be ready soon enough."

Alec thanks him, pockets the change, and steps out of the next customer's way. He glances back to where Isabelle has her attention buried in a magazine, her hair pulled back tightly and immaculately, her eyes squinting just enough to hint at focus, and her lips pressed together. Her posture, however, is fairly relaxed; she's slouched back enough to appear comfortable. He smiles, fondness tugging at him, and he turns back to the baristas working furiously to combat the line; there are three of them.

He probably should have bought something for Max, but he doesn't know what the kid drinks anymore. Had he grown out of the hot chocolate? Does he still enjoy it as much as he did? What could he possibly like more? So Alec settled on waiting for his younger brother to join them from school before ordering something for him.

Speaking of which, the kid should be there fairly soon. Students are starting to trickle into the establishment.

"Alec!"

It's a barista who flitted away to move onto other drinks, leaving the coffee and cappuccino waiting happily on the counter. He takes them, careful not to burn himself, and heads back to his sister.

"How are Jace and Clary?" he inquires, successfully pulling Isabelle's attention away from the reading. He sets the cappuccino on the table, pushes it toward his sister, and cups his between his hands. "I haven't been able to talk to them much outside of work."

"Pretty good. Mom and Dad really like Clary, and she's good for him." They practically adopted him; he wouldn't be surprised if Jace spent more of his childhood at the Lightwood house than the Wayland. "Not to mention she really brings him down to earth."

Alec pops the top off his coffee – disdained that they're paper cups instead of mugs – and blows on it. "She deserves a medal."

"Simon and I were considering making one," she chirps with a smile. A gag present. Perfect. "It'll come with an award and everything."

Alec can't help but laugh lightly. "Great."

"We aren't very far, though, but we're working on it." She sets the magazine on the table, studies him. "You look like you could use some sleep."

Alec huffs. "That's what the barista told me. Just wait until I finish my coffee."

Isabelle watches him skeptically, rests back in her chair. "Sleep in tomorrow. I don't care what Sheriff Starkweather or Magnus says."

He snorts. "Magnus wouldn't be hard to convince."

Isabelle smiles. "See? And I'm sure he'd cover for you for Starkweather. Sleep in. You need it."

"I'll consider it," Alec says after a moment's pause.

She, however, has a triumphant air. "Good."

He rolls his eyes, amused and touched. "How has your modeling work been going?"

"Wonderfully!" Her voice dances happily as she speaks, her dark eyes alight with excitement. "I was just offered a contract. I can't tell you much about it, not yet, but it's a huge step!"

Alec grins widely, the contagious excitement spreading over to him. "Seriously?" She nods. "That's incredible, Izzy!"

She leans forward in her chair conspiratorially. "I should be able to tell you early next week if you're still here."

"With the way the case is going, we should be. It's only a couple of days anyway."

Isabelle claps her hands together, nearly bounces back into her chair. "Fantastic!"

Her energy still transfers over to Alec, buzzing him as Max materializes at their table. The kid's a ninja.

"So what's happening over here?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one.
> 
> I congratulate those of you who made it through this giant block of fic.
> 
> You deserve a medal or something.
> 
> RedCoral on FF was gracious enough to beta this chapter for me, so she owes my undying gratitude.

The music thrums against Alec uncomfortably, and it mixes with the alcohol-induced buzz already nipping at his consciousness. He can feel the music beat in time with his heart, feel the vibrations through the table under his elbows, and watch his drink ripple incessantly in rhythm; he feels detached. Like before, he can see a swarm of people indecently swaying and bouncing in time with every bass note, every rest, every speed up and slow. He takes a sip of the too-strong-yet-dulling alcohol, but one that'll surely numb his mind further. He grimaces at the burn as it trickles down his throat.

Alec knows his sister is in the crowd somewhere, probably dragged the out-of-place Simon with her. He can't complain too much, though; his sister's old enough to know what she's doing and, if there's anyone who wears the pants in that relationship, it's her.

He also learned that Jace and Clary are official, not that it came as a surprise to anyone, and they're somewhere among the throng as well. With another swallow, he can't help but feel a pang of dulled jealousy. After the close childhood and adolescent years, it's a bittersweet feeling to see someone occupy so much of his best friend's time and attention. He'd hesitate to admit it, but he somehow managed to persuade himself he was head over heels for the man. Whether it was to shield himself from too much scrutiny when it came to his sexuality or love life, or if he merely wanted to protect himself against the possibility of being hurt in a relationship, he isn't sure. Yet he surmises that it's a most likely a mélange of both. With an amused huff, Alec fingers his cup, studies the fingerprint he left behind. That all ended after he moved away to Pennsylvania and met a rather flamboyant man – one who instantly and easily engraved a smile on his face, who demolished his walls, who captured his rapt, fascinated attention.

An amused smirk playing on his lips turns into a faint, fond smile. Sure, he may be irritated with the guy, but that certainly doesn't taint his affection for him.

A voice, one that would probably have deafened him had there been no ear-shattering loud music, pierces through his thoughts. "Alexander!"

He blinks, startled and ready to correct whoever's intruding on his moment with a curt "Alec", when his eyes land on very familiar, very green-gold, and very energized eyes. Alec quickly takes another sip of his drink, suddenly relishing the slight grounding of the burn, and peers at him inquisitively.

Magnus sits next to him, the high of the other clubbers vibrating through him like a kite. He settles Alec with a determined look, his bangs beginning to stick to his forehead with sweat, his posture leaning toward him. Alec licks his lips, uneasy with Magnus's sudden change in character – he can't possibly be trying something _now_ – and straightens himself.

"You're here alone," he muses, leaning back to give the frantic Alec more space. He realizes his pulse has quickened extraordinarily, thumping away in his ears louder than the music. Was his partner intoxicated? No, he doesn't smell of alcohol yet, and he's a more of a heavy-weight than he appears.

Alec works his mouth, trying to find words after that sequence, and managed to squeeze out an, "I'm watching the drinks." He blames the alcohol and what he thinks may be the start of a headache.

Magnus snorts in response but plucks his own off the table, downs it. Alec shudders thinking about how much that must have burned; he can't possibly feel his throat anymore.

Surprisingly enough, Magnus sounds just fine when he speaks (shouts) next. "Mine's gone. Come dance."

Alec shakes his head and points to the five others in front of him. He needs to protect them; it's his sworn duty as big brother.

"Please, Alec? I'll buy them new ones."

He shakes his head once again, and he swears Magnus pouts in the slightest.

"I'll beg. Don't make me beg."

Alec raises a brow, not wanting to compete with the music. It's when Magnus slips down from his seat that he caves, nodding rapidly as not to draw attention to the two of them. "Fine." It's mouthed, but it makes the other man beam before him. Alec vaguely wonders if this is what he's like when he's a bit too hyped up on people – his foolproof drug.

Magnus is dragging him to the outskirts, and Alec is staggering all the way. He's unsure when his legs became such treacherous beings and decided to be uncooperative. They tremble under his weight – nevermind they've been able to hold him the rest of his life – and threaten to give out. The main culprits, though, are his knees, the joints that are wobbling and feel disconnected.

Magnus turns to him abruptly, a sly smirk in place. He begins swaying to the music, bobbing with the beat, speeding and slowing with the tempo, and he's a sensual master at dancing, _not to mention he's drawing nearer and nearer_. Alec forces himself to bounce with the melody, sure he looks something akin to a klutzy puppy taking its first steps and nowhere near in time, but he moves nonetheless. He dares a glance at Magnus, and he regrets the decision almost immediately.

_He's closer and there's laughter in his eyes. Does he find this all funny?_

There's suddenly a hand on his hip, and, despite how much he enjoys the contact, Alec nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Relax, Alec." Despite how loud it has to be, Magnus's voice is calm, reassuring, and he's sure there's almost a sultry undertone. Dear angel, no.

"Are you drunk?" He may have miscalculated earlier; there's too much off for this to be a completely rational decision and action. _Since when did Magnus touch him like that? It's a measly touch to the hip, and it's a little dance, but it's definitely not normal._

"I wouldn't say so."

"Magnus."

The man shakes his head with a smile, securing Alec's other side with his free hand. "I know exactly what I'm doing. Don't worry and relax."

And so the ebony-haired man complies, swaying with the movement, hoping and praying to either loosen up or be let go.

But he can't do this.

"Magnus…" Alec tries and twists in an attempt to free himself from Magnus's clutches. His nerves are threatening him with illness, the increasingly dizzying effects of the blaring music and alcohol threaten to pass time in a haze, and it would be unfair of him to take advantage of the situation. On top of that, he's still completely unsure of Magnus's sobriety.

And Magnus deserves better than his lovesick, klutzy, awkward puppy of a partner.

Those eyes, those addicting eyes stare back at him curiously.

He keeps squirming to escape. "Magnus, I can't."

They blink. Those cat-like eyes blink, unreadable. Then he feels a weight released from his hips, and they still.

"I'm sorry." Alec's mind is cluttered, chasing its tail in a mad circular thought. Perhaps he's being overcautious about their friendship, but he fears tiptoeing the line. Magnus is too dear of a friend to screw things up with, and this could very well be his downfall. That and, even if the man were interested, he does deserve so much more. He _needs_ someone who would enjoy these clubs, these parties, socializing, someone just as colorful and with an astounding fashion sense, someone opposite of Alec.

Yeah, he's probably going to be sick.

Magnus nods as if understanding, or acknowledging, or whatever it may be. Alec isn't sure if he's reading him correctly, but he's certain there's a hint of disappointment or hurt.

Alec averts his eyes. _No, it can't be_. He can't have much of an effect on Magnus.

"I should – uh – go watch the table."

So he beelinesto the object in question without so much as an embarrassed glance behind. Alec knows, though, that Magnus can easily reintegrate himself into the crowd. After all, people love him, and he loves people.

Alec realizes he needs another drink.

* * *

There's no alarm that morning, no phone, only the two to pull themselves from the dark bliss of sleep. It's the first time since the case has started that he's been able to sleep in, but even then he finds himself waking up earlier than he normally would. With a quick peek, the clock reads 8:53 am; he shoves his face back into the pillow. That'd be only about five hours of sleep. Why is he up already?

Yet sleep evades him further, much to his dismay, and he begrudgingly pulls himself out of bed silently. Magnus is still passed out, his back to Alec and his hair poking up sporadically. He doesn't take a moment longer to study the sleeping man, his cheeks heating up as the memories of Pandemonium wash over him as well as the reasons why he should be peeved with the man. He creeps into the bathroom. Alec shuts the door with a heavy sigh, runs his hands over his face and then through his hair. It's okay; he just needs to shower the sweat and sparkles from their adventure away, try to collect himself, and put his typical Alec face on. He nods to himself, sure.

And so he begins stripping to wash last night away.

It'll also do very little.

When Alec reemerges from the bathroom sweat and glitter-free, hair damp, his jeans and sweater from the day before thrown on, he finds a groggy Magnus peering at him. He bites at his lower lip, averts his eyes, and hurries to his bag. They'll have to borrow a washer soon he notes; he's running low on socks and underwear. Perhaps Jace would be kind enough to lend them his.

"Alec." There's that voice, that smooth, silky voice that has a rough edge – most likely from all the yelling the night before and the fatigue laced in it. Alec wonders if Magnus feels a hangover at all, but he decides not to ask. Sometimes it's hard to tell, and it's very situational.

He keeps his eyes, his attention buried in the bag. "Yeah?"

"I didn't make you feel too uncomfortable last night, did I?" There's earnestness, a layer of concern in his voice that has Alec peering back at him. His blue eyes widen, and he blinks.

"I – Uh – No," he stammers, pauses, and then sighs. "Maybe a little."

Magnus is silent for a long moment, lost in thought, and then pulls himself up into a sitting position. "Look, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

Alec spins on his knees so he can face Magnus better, study the age lines that prematurely show themselves. His brows are crinkled in worry, his mouth set rigidly. "Don't worry. It's not a big deal, and you got me to dance a little – which I'll never forgive you for."

Magnus snorts which turns into a light laugh. "You have the potential to be a better dancer than you give yourself credit for, Alec. I wouldn't hesitate to try dancing with you again."

"Yeah, well," Alec works, feeling blood flow up into his cheeks again, "good luck."

His laughter grows, and Magnus leans back into the head of the bed. "You're something." Definitely hung-over if not a bit drunk yet.

Alec's lips are pressed into a thin line, and he turns back to his bag. Time to continue the search for a clean pair of socks and hide his embarrassment. It's a foolproof plan, although, now that he thinks about it…

"There's a good restaurant where we can find lunch later. It's called Taki's, and Jace, Isabelle, and I would go there all the time when we were younger. They have the best food." The suggestion rolls off his tongue quickly, breaking through each of Magnus's dying cackles.

"That sounds like a plan."

* * *

The stop's just along the way to the station, and the other shop is still closed. Alec decides he'll have to investigate that horrendous tragedy, and he considered for a brief time prioritizing it over their case at hand. It didn't take long before he decided that no, that can't do. Lives at stake are more important than coffee at stake – even if not by much. He pushes into the café, Magnus trailing behind him like a mother, and they step into a wall of caffeinated redolence. Alec inhales deeply, although Magnus unappreciatively steps in front of him; he obviously doesn't understand the fine art of coffee.

"They could use a bit of interior decorating, but it isn't that bad here." He nods approvingly, sends a smile back to Alec. He just rolls his eyes and silently makes his way toward the line.

"Seriously, the color scheme works, but the lighting makes it look a bit grim. It's a bit like you."

"Why don't you offer them your services?" Alec raises an inquiring brow and chooses to ignore the latter bit… for now. He has a comfortable amount of color in his wardrobe now – a scarf and the occasional dark or neutral hue.

Magnus scoffs. "I'm occupied by mysteries and justice. Priorities."

They take a few steps forward. "Your priorities have always revolved around color and fashion. I recall you once calling in sick to catch a marathon of some show. What was it called?"

" _Project Runway._ " There's a hint of fond nostalgia in his eyes, a corner of his lips curling upward.

"That, and I had to pull up both our ends that day."

Magnus appears mockingly hurt. "I made up for that day!"

A few steps more.

"How?"

"I-"

They're cut off by the barista, the same one from earlier Alec notes, who smiles at them. "How may I help you?"

"Could I have a black coffee and…" He glances over to Magnus. "Magnus, what would you like?"

"A cappuccino, please."

The man taps the order into the register. "It was Alec, right?" he asks, not tearing his charcoal eyes from the machine.

"Uh, yeah." He blinks, surprised. He's only been in the place once, and the barista must have hundreds of customers come through each day. Not to mention he isn't the kind of person who would stand out among a crowd.

It's as if the barista read his mind. "You're hard to forget."

Alec shifts uncomfortably, racking his mind for what to say, but Magnus beats him with a laugh. "Isn't he? Although I have to apologize, we're a bit behind schedule and there's a bit of a line behind us, so it may not be the best time to converse."

The man, his dark eyes scrutinizing Magnus, twists his lips in an almost daring smirk. "Then be fast." Alec can't help but notice that the man's response makes absolutely no sense, and his stomach clenches as Magnus deposits more money on the counter than necessary, practically dragging him off.

"I don't like him," his partner decides before Alec can demand an answer. He's practically glaring at the barista – who's tending to the next customer, an elderly lady who's laughing lightly at what he assumes to be pleasantries. "He's infringing."

Alec bites his lip, uneasy, and nods in agreement. Yet he realizes that Magnus and he mean two completely different things. From what he's gathered, Magnus is unhappy about something with their interaction, and to him there's something amiss about the man. Something about his atmosphere that he missed the first time around, his demeanor, something that puts him on edge. "There is something off about him."

They both pause, reflecting for longer than he realizes, and are surprised to hear Alec's name called so soon. Although it isn't the same as the other café, the coffee there is still pretty good.

Alec sips it as they step back out into the New York air, and then he hesitates. There's a question nagging at his mind, not the one that transpired from the night before –he'd like to ask about it, but he doesn't think he's ready yet- but the one that's been lingering and aggravating his already peeved nerves.

"You seem to know more about the Shadowhunters, Downworlders, and Circle than what you'd learn in an elective course." Once it started, he knew the train wreck was unstoppable.

Magnus, who happened to be sipping at his cappuccino at the time, nearly spits it back into the cup. "What gives you that idea?"

Alec raises a brow and stops on the sidewalk, effectively cutting off a father and child behind them. The father scowls at them as he passes, but the duo is studying each other.

"You said it was a small unit – if that – in one of your courses." His tone is accusing, but he doesn't care; his frustrations weave in and out of his voice, escaping him. "You're doing a horrible job at hiding that you really know more, and I want to know what and why."

Magnus appears confused for a moment, and then he chuckles. "I checked out a book. Remember, Alec?"

He sputters, presses his lips tightly closed. He doubts his partner learned all that from a book, such specific and convenient information (not to mention rather abundant), but Alec isn't sure if he should press it any further.

"Furthermore, I assure you that, if I did know something, I would tell you." His voice is turning indignant, his spine straightening, movements to protect his pride and integrity.

"Promise?"

Magnus pauses, and then he sighs. "Promise. Now let's get back to the station before they reassign our case."

And, although Alec knows he really should, there's something preventing him from trusting Magnus completely.

* * *

Work during what's left of that morning goes by slowly, yielding little no nothing of use. It's the same information, the same connections, the same old. Alec's coffee is long gone, gulped quickly that morning to banish away any haze that may have remained, and Magnus's followed not too long after. The papers before him are turning crinkly from the numerous times the duo has flipped through them, his hair awry from all the times he's carted his hands through it.

Magnus is no better off. The once immaculate spikes are losing their strength, their liveliness, and he currently has his head rested on a hand as he reads. The man sighs, turns a page, but his eyes seem distant, unfocused.

"Do you know if we've heard back from Mrs. Campbell about talking to her again?" Alec finally breaks the silence; the question's been nagging at him.

Magnus lazily looks up to Alec. "She hasn't responded, no. It's hard to say when she will with her recently-exsanguinated husband, although I presume she'd want to help us find his killing-friend as soon as possible."

Alec nods. "Okay." He bites his lower lip, pondering, and then folds his arms on the table. "Who were some prominent Circle people before the fall?"

Magnus tilts his head, studies Alec as his mind works. "There are very few known figures, but most are thought to be dead."

"Who are they?"

Magnus cracks his mouth to respond, manages to make a short noise, but he's interrupted by Jace barging into the room.

"What is your issue? Haven't you ever heard of a simple practice called knocking? I hear it's a very popular trend nowadays." The sudden irritation is rampant in his clipped voice.

"Can it, Magnus. We've been tracking the one number, and there's been a hit on the number from an old apartment building. We're sending a small team to go investigate it, and you're coming with."

A second figure appears in the doorway, tapping Jace's shoulder. The officer steps out of the way reluctantly; Sheriff Hodge enters.

"Get your things, and you can get ready in the car. Jace," he turns his attention to him, "make sure _Clary_ 's prepared."

Jace nods and shuffles from the room.

"He's a bit excitable. Then again, Agent Lightwood, I'm sure you already know that."

"Yes, sir," he responds with a nod, shutting his folder quietly.

"With as little action as there's been, hopefully this'll tide him over for a while. You'll meet Jace and Clary in the parking lot."

With a small pang of disappointment, it dawns on Alec that Taki's that afternoon may not happen after all.

* * *

Alec's surprised to learn there are still people living in the dark, dank, desolate building. A few ground-level windows are smashed and boarded, and faces careen to those that are encrusted with dirt and littered with cracks as the two cars appear. He steps out of the vehicle, his shoe grinding against the pavement below, and he kicks a can with his other. It takes him by surprise, and he watches as the can skitters and collides into the curb. Other papers and cans lay not too far away, the flower of the neighborhood.

Alec closes the door behind him, a soft thud that pierces the nervous silence. He glances over to Magnus, his vividly accented hair and clothes starkly contrasting the buildings behind him, and he studies him. The man seems at ease, so opposite of himself, the yin to his yang. He even flashes Alec one of his brilliant smiles.

"Ready, lovebirds?" Jace's voice pulls at him, forcing his gaze to the officer. Alec then quickly looks away, his childhood friend's antagonistic smirk in place and the phrase repeating over and over in his mind.

"As soon as you are, Goldilocks," Magnus nearly sing-songs. The sound of his crunching steps shift from the other side of the car toward the door. "And, my dear cherry tomato, you should come along, too."

The words escape his mouth before he has time to think about them. "I'm not a fruit."

Alec's not sure if he heard correctly or not, but he swears he heard a muttered, "But you're sweet and scrumptious." He presses his hands to his cheeks in an effort to cool the burning sensation, but, after realizing the attempt is merely in vain, buries his chin in his scarf. There. It semi-obscures his incriminating flush!

He peaks at Jace, who's still smirking, and then at Clary who's just emerged from the car. "Behave, Jace."

The blond sends her a look over his shoulder. "Or what?"

"Or I'll have every right to make sure we don't set foot in each other's apartment for a week." She shuts the door a bit more forceful than need be, but Alec surmises it was for effect. Yet he notes that, if he understands correctly, the two moved very quickly. Clary catches up to them quickly.

The interior matches the outside. Wallpaper is peeling around the edges, torn off in certain locations, and the linoleum floor under their feet slips occasionally. There's a distant but distinct odor of mold and musk, but Alec quickly dismisses it. They have more important things at hand, like finding the place of a certain phone.

"Jace, you go with Alec. Magnus, come with me. We can cover more ground, and we shouldn't be in any danger, but we'll be in pairs just in case. If anything happens, give us a call." Clary prattles off the orders and, although Jace appears less than happy with them, he obeys.

It doesn't slip by Alec, and he's forced to suppress a smile because of it. Perhaps she is good for him after all.

"Then Alec and I get the first floor," Jace decides with a sure nod, and Clary gives an easy shrug.

"Fair enough. Come on, Magnus."

Magnus gives them a curt wave and a reassuring "Don't die" before following her off toward the stairs.

Effectively leaving Alec and Jace to their own devices.

"I still don't know why you like him," Jace grumbles, and Alec finds it funny; Clary probably gave him a harder time than his partner (a shocking change).

"I still don't know why you don't."

Jace turns a lopsided grin in his direction. "Touché. Now let's get hunting."

Alec can't help but grin back. It's like when they were younger with Jace always leading him into trouble. They would steal cookies from the jar, torment the poor cat, rough house in the mud, and, somehow, Jace always managed to win their competitions.

Save when they were at the archery range.

Alec dominated and still does.

And, as per usual, Jace beats him to the door.

He knocks.

The person who answers is a small, elderly woman, who squints suspiciously at them. The red-framed glasses perched on her nose do little but magnify her harsh, untrusting expression.

Her thin, wrinkled lips move, and a wheezy voice inflicted by age and possible smoking (and, now that he notices it, there is a distinct tobacco smell) spills from them. "What do you two want? I'm not buying anything from you if that's what you want."

"Not at all, ma'am," Jace replies, his tone startlingly pleasant. "We're just hoping our friend is around here somewhere. He invited us over, but he never told us which apartment it was."

Alec's taken aback by the tone and the blatant lie, but he supposes it makes sense. They'd be less likely to uncover something – especially from someone trying to protect the individual – by brandishing their badges and guns. Yet it makes him a bit uneasy; he's never been a terribly good liar, much less those who know him and his signs.

Then again, these are strangers.

"Be quick." She's brusque.

"Do you know Jonathan Circle's apartment number?"

She raises a brow and then scoffs. "If you were his friend, you'd know he doesn't come here very often."

Alec blinks. "What do you mean?"

"He invited us to this apartment," Jace adds quickly.

The woman shakes her head and grumbles. "We don't know why. He lives here, or at least has an apartment here, but we don't see him very much. There's not a lot of noise that comes from it either."

"Can you still tell us the number?"

She sighs. "Two-eighteen."

Jace smiles widely. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Yeah, yeah. Off with the both of you before you really try to sell me something."

And, with that, the door is promptly slammed in their faces, but neither care. They have an apartment number _and_ on their first person.

"I'll call Magnus and let him know," Alec decides as he fishes his phone out of his pocket; he flips it open. "Clary and he can meet us there."

Jace nods, already bounding far ahead of Alec, but the latter doesn't really care. It's foolish, he knows it, but the prospect of a near end excites him.

He's about ready to press two on the speed dial when an incoming call pops up on the tiny screen.

_Max Lightwood_ it reads. He shouldn't answer it, Alec's well aware of it, but he hits the little green button anyway.

The first thing he hears when he presses the device to his ear is erratic breathing and contained sobs.

"Alec? Alec, are you there?" It's whispered urgently, terror tearing through the voice and through the agent's chest.

"Max, what's wrong?" There's a crash on the other end, a voice, and then a muffled whimper. "Max, have you called 911?"

"No," is the response, and in another time, in another place, Alec would have lectured his younger brother. Instead, dread and fear pool in the pit of his stomach.

"Stay quiet. I'll call them and come over right away. You're at home, right?"

"Mhm."

"Hang in there. We'll be there as soon as possible."

The line dies on the other end, and Alec's widened, blue eyes lock with Jace's .

"We have to get home," his voice wavers as he quickly closes the distance between his friend and him and moves past him. The stairs aren't that far away from the front door – and hopefully he can shout up to Magnus and Clary from there. Then again, maybe calling would be faster. He doesn't know, and he doesn't really care, but shouting for them would probably assuage a small bit of the panic ball growing in his stomach. That and it seems easiest at the moment.

Jace is rooted to the spot, raising a brow. "What do you mean 'we have to get home'?"

"There's someone there." His tone is turning sharp, curt, and he needs to call 911 still. Maybe he can have Jace find the other two; that would take care of two things at once. Yes, that seems a good course of action. "Go find Magnus and Clary."

Jace is watching him quizzically, seemingly not comprehending what Alec's _very clear and concise sentences communicate_. "What do you mean there's someone at the house? Why would there be someone there?"

"Why the hell would I know?" Alec snaps, not stopping in his stride and forcing Jace to trot to catch up. "There's someone there, Max is there, and obviously whoever it is doesn't want to sit around a fire and chat. We have to get home"

Jace swerves away from him and toward the staircase, a sense of urgency lighting under his feet. His voice echoes through the halls, paired with the metallic beeping of Alec's flip phone.

"This is 911. Please state your emergency," the monotonous tone drones from the other end. How can someone stay that calm and sound so disinterested when operating such a line?

"This is Alexander Lightwood," he starts. Although Jace is yelling still for Magnus and Clary – whose footsteps he can clearly hear thumping louder – and Alec can't go anywhere without those three, his feet are working maniacally. He's pacing, the need to move to ease his nerves even in the slightest overtaking him; he'd likely go nuts if he were still. "There's an intruder with probably violent intent at my parents' house, and my little brother's there."

"What's the address?" The voice has lost its disinterested edge, takes on a more serious tone. Alec would be surprised at how easily it still rolls off his tongue, but the situation doesn't allow him that luxury. Instead, he can feel his anxiety rising. "Where are you?"

"I'm at work – but that's not important. Get someone at the house." He hears the sound of a hasty, thudding stair descent, and he spins to see the other two approaching them. Clary appears confused but hurried, nearly running down the rickety, creaky steps. Magnus seems just as puzzled, but the concern is much more evident in how he glances to Alec. Jace is watching, unusually refraining from his typical smart remark. Alec, of course, doesn't notice any of the expressions; instead he focuses on the person on the other end of the line – the one who can get his brother help fastest.

"Is it just your brother and the intruder at the house?" the responder asks.

Although Alec knows he's trying to gather the clearest image possible of what's happening, he can't help the frustration and urgency that emanates from his voice. "Yes. I would have said if there were someone else that I know of. Just send someone."

"Okay. I'll send someone to investigate. We'll take care of it, Mr. Lightwood. If you could –"

"Thank you," he interrupts, clipped, and shuts the phone. Alec knows it wasn't the best decision, but they need to go – and now they need to send _someone_ now that they were called. He returns his phone to his pocket, ignoring its buzzing, and turns terrified to the others, blue eyes to gold-green ones.

For once they do very little to calm him, and for the third time he explains what's happening. It seems no less unreal than the first time.

"We have to go. Max is in trouble." His voice is rising, he can hear it, and he can see the worry being etched deeper and deeper in Magnus's creases. He looks so old as he's looking back at him, and his years of experience leak into his eyes. Yet, even though he vaguely notices those slips, his mind is reeling with his younger brother.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:Hello, all!
> 
> After an especially long break (not that it's terribly noticeable on here), I'm proud to bring you the next chapter! Unfortunately it's rather short, but it should be by far the shortest chapter.
> 
> Constructive crit is wonderful! I also had an inconsistency pointed out to me, thank you, and it's fixed now; Alec's 26, and Magnus is 28.
> 
> Beta-ed by the glorious RedCoral on ff.
> 
> Onward!

The siren blares over the rumbling traffic; the cars skirt away toward the edges of the roads. Clary insisted on taking Alec ahead, and Magnus, being the protective and concerned partner that he is, demanded to travel with them. She's the one who can get them there faster after all – and more safely.

Jace stayed behind to call in back-up and a warrant. They couldn't very well leave the apartment without examination at this point, and there was no way to be certain it has or would undergo any tampering during or after this crisis.

Of course they promised to keep him updated to the best of their abilities, but they all knew it would be after one party had finished its task. Yet it still helped to assuage the anxiety and fear pumping rapidly through Jace's veins – if his magically paler and uncharacteristically less arrogant demeanor were any indication.

Magnus turned his hesitant gaze over to the hunched over figure in the front passenger seat. Alec was silent, restless, biting at a thumbnail, toying with his hair when that hand isn't occupied, checking the clock constantly, his eyes set ahead of them. He hadn't uttered a word since they'd started on the expedition, and usually he'd attempt to coax a conversation from his partner, but he leaves him be. He's there, but he allows Alec as much "peace" as possible.

He turns his attention to the scenery passing agonizingly slow with the time; it's funny how sluggishly the seconds can tick by in these grave lulls. Trees seem to waltz by with houses, taking longer than necessary breathers when _cars won't move out of the way_. Clouds are rolling in, looming high up in the sky, grey underbellies threatening an utter downpour. It's such a shame; it started out as such a nice day. With a grim irony he notes that it could be in more than one way.

Magnus exhales heavily, and he finds himself scrutinizing Alec once again from an angle. His anxiety is only increasing as evidenced by his now fiddling with his sleeves, pulling holes larger and strings from their seams. Occasionally he wraps an especially long, extracted string around a scarf end or shoves it through a hole.

That sweater's probably going to have to be retired at the end of the night if he continues like that – although it should have been long ago as it is.

The car turns sharply, shaking Magnus from his Alec- analysis, and he turns his attention out the window. He recognizes this neighborhood – the increasingly expensive houses and class; they're almost there. If that weren't any indication, the cluster of vehicles and people ahead of them would scream "It's here!"

The muffled sound of fabric moving against the seats rustles throughout the car followed by a small click. Alec is practically leaning against the door, scarf instantly dropped, ready for the vehicle to stop enough for him to interrogate whoever was in charge at the scene. Normally Magnus would scold him for such reckless behavior, but they were slowing drastically and a terrified Alec makes a terrifying Alec.

Clary barely has the car parked when Alec bounds out of it – or perhaps it was a mere second before? Magnus stumbles out to catch him and is only successful when he reaches Sheriff Hodge.

"We have units surrounding the building," the sheriff is informing his partner, whose desperate expression shows little relief: eyebrows knitted together, lips pressed into a thin line, whatever color left in his pale complexion retreating. "We're currently trying to reach the suspect, but our attempts have been unsuccessful. Then again, we just got here."

Alec's biting his lower lip, that horrible habit rearing its ugly face yet again. "I know the house."

"Alec, you know that can't happen." Sheriff Hodge sighed, looked to his assembled team and then back to the agents. "It's too risky, and we need to follow protocol."

"Protocol?" Alec's voice rises an octave or two. Magnus would've been surprised were the circumstances different. "My little brother's in there, and you expect me to stand here and twiddle my thumbs while you follow your bureaucratic _protocol_?"

Sheriff Hodge is working for something to say, anything to say, when Magnus butts in. "Alec, please." He effectively earns himself the sourest glare he's perhaps had the misfortune to witness from the man.

"Don't you dare. That's Max in there, and I know this scene better than _anyone_ here."

"Yes, but Alec, we want to get him out _alive_. If he knows we're coming in, he could freak."

Alec snorts incredulously. "What case have you been on? We've had one murder _with the kid still in the house_ , and they've all been aiming _to send a message_. He's not afraid of us if he's Jonathan – which I'm willing to bet he is. If anything, he's going to come out a martyr in the Circle whether we go in or coax him out – and he's probably going to kill him if we give him the opportunity. At least if we take him by surprise Max has a chance."

"Alec…" Magnus tries again weakly. He knows Alec is right, but he can't go in. Not his infuriating Alec. The man is standing there, turning his attention from Magnus back to the sheriff, who has his lips set thoughtfully. He can't possibly agree to it; there has to be another way.

Finally the sheriff gives a resigned sigh. "Very well. I'll assign you a couple of my officers, and we'll reconvene for a strategy meeting in two minutes by my car. Let me grab them."

And so Sheriff Hodge starts toward his self-given assignment.

"Alexander Gideon Lightwood, you're going to get yourself killed!" Magnus hisses. Alec reels at the use of his full name and then responds with a silent yet hardened scowl; he doesn't need to say anything. "But it won't be today, not if I can help it. Your mother's a scary woman."

A black brow rises in questioning, but Magnus offers no explanation. "Let's get going."

The sheriff's plan isn't bad. They'll go in a team of four and split off into pairs – Alec in one and Magnus in another (much to his dismay as he has a rudimentary knowledge of the layout) – while those outside continue trying to negotiate. The procedure is to be conducted in utmost secrecy, so their suspect is not to know until they've cornered him. The ultimate goal is to rescue Max, but they also intend to capture the intruder.

"Good luck," Sheriff Hodge wishes them after equipping them with necessary protection – only his most prized vests. Magnus doesn't like its stiffness or its lackluster appearance, but he supposes it's better than being shot. Any unneeded items or articles – such as Alec's marvelous scarf – are discarded and stored in the sheriff's vehicle.

So, gun in hand and senses piqued, it begins.

The house is eerily quiet, and they're careful to keep the floorboards creaking as minimally as possible. The stairs are what Magnus fears after hearing stories of Isabelle's nightly escapades – few of which skirting under the radar due to the squeaky traitors. He never did get the opportunity to use them the night of the Lightwood family dinner, unfortunately, but he does get his opportunity today.

If only the circumstances were different.

Magnus glances over to Alec briefly, receiving a nod from his partner, before skirting off toward the noisy gauntlet. His lovely cop is following him all the way – which reminds him that he forgot to get the charming woman's name – and he stops right before them.

"I'm not sure if Alec informed you," he starts in a whisper, turning to her. "The stairs, despite how nice the house is, can get fairly noisy. Mind your step and keep light."

Mary – he decides to call her because something needs to be merry in this situation – nods in acknowledgement. It's time to surmount the obstacle.

The first step is okay, but Magnus is suspicious they're merely trying to lull him into a false sense of security, and inches up to the second one, the third, the fourth. It isn't until he's about halfway up that he starts to hear the crescendo of the oncoming creaking symphony. He grimaces at the sound all the while aware that the slightest is inevitable. It's really just reduction at this point. Magnus looks back to Mary, who has much the same expression, and continues to creep back up the infernal device.

The flat flooring comes when Magnus feels faint from holding his breath. They made it – Mary making it up seconds later – and seemingly without disrupting anything. He exhales in relief and sucks in a fresh breath, prepared to take the next step in finding Mr. Circle and Max.

They take a right, padding on the significantly quieter rugs; it's just as noiseless up there. Magnus finds himself holding his breath again, listening. His pulse thrums in his ears. His mouth is dry. His hands tighten on his gun. His eyes investigate the hall.

There's no sign of a disturbance. Not a squeak, not an item out of place. His fingers tighten around his gun as he takes a few more steps forward. Magnus is about to whisper to his partner, to inquire if she's catching something he's missing, when voices erupt from somewhere downstairs.

They roar into a nonsensical fortissimo, although Magnus can distinctly pick out his partner's. It's a voice with a frantic edge – one that only someone who knew the man could detect. There's a slight waver, a slight breathlessness but urgency, laced in it.

Magnus's partner is studying him, waiting, expecting orders of some sort. He gestures for her to backtrack down the hall and follow the shouts, and she nods once before complying silently, carefully.

_BAM._

Magnus's heart stutters painfully in his chest; his breath hitches.

_BAM._

He forgets about the officer with him as he shoots down the rest of the hallway, slips as he rounds the stairs.

_BAM._

There's screaming he's vaguely aware of. Whether it's from whatever's transpiring, from Mary, his own voice, or any combination thereof, he doesn't know.

_BAM._

_Alec._


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N:** Hello, all!_

_So here's the post-cliffhanger(s) chapter! It's also back up to length, which is great and owed, so here you go. There's also a small surprise for you wondrous readers that's long overdue for putting up with my antics._

_Constructive crit is wonderful!_

_Beta-ed by the marvelous RedCoral on Fanfiction._

* * *

" _So you wanna play with magic."_

Normally Jace's flat voice would compete with Katy Perry's, but the song is quietly relegated to a background noise.

" _Boy, you should know what you're falling for."_

His knuckles are white against the steering wheel as he drives to the Lightwood house. Jace finished with the apartment not ten minutes ago and sent the team assisting him on its merry way. Its members likely headed back to the station to await another call, or perhaps they hunted down some food along the way back.

He, however, has a much more important mission at hand. He hasn't heard back from anyone yet, which is oxymoronically comforting and disconcerting. Does this mean nothing's happened yet? Does it mean something has but no one's been able to contact him? Or could it mean that the situation is ongoing?

If the fruitless findings of the apartment were anything to go by, he'd say that the house situation is much the same. Then again, it could serve as one giant distraction; he refuses to believe that.

Impatient with the slowly moving traffic, Jace moves to turn on his signal. Although technically he isn't responding to something, he could still justify its use. _He's assisting in a possible hostage crisis._

It's just before he activates it that his phone blares over Katy Perry's " _'Cause I'm coming at you like a dark horse_.'"

Jace takes his eyes off the road for a moment to grope for his phone, and the vibrating and screeching device soon is soon captured. Although he doesn't notice Clary's large name emblazoned on the screen, he taps his phone to accept the call.

"Jace Wayland."

There are undiscernible, bickering voices on the other end.

All of a sudden, one becomes drastically clearer and familiar. "Hi, Jace? It's Clary."

A sigh of relief escapes him. They're finally calling him back. "What happened? Is Max okay?"

"I – don't know."

The moment of reprieve is replaced with a fearful trepidation.

"You don't know?" His voice is rising as he speaks, and he takes a left.

"I don't know. Alec, Magnus, Sarah, and Fred went into the house, and Sarah just called in for backup and paramedics. Sheriff Starkweather didn't tell us the details, but he told me to tell you to hurry back."

A pause. A moment's hesitation.

"Listen, I'm on my way. I should be there in about fifteen minutes."

"Be fast but be safe. See you then."

* * *

"Yeah."

When the conversation disconnects, Jace swears loudly into the car and turns on his sirens. If this isn't adequate reason, he doesn't know what is.

White erupts and engulfs his vision, heralding an explosion in his knee, and unintelligible sounds rage in his ears. The exterior world is muffled, leaving him and his excruciating pain suspended in a white fury. Or is it black? He isn't sure, nor is he certain how it got here. How did _he_ get there? He'd been at home moments before, reliving his childhood in their father's study, finding Max during a typical game of intense hide-and-seek.

_Max_.

Alec's eyes shoot open, and he's startled by the sudden _world_ that's surrounding him. The colors are swirling together, fading from one to another, forming images. That's right; that's what the real world looks like; that's what vision is. He blinks, the sharp pain in his knee momentarily buzzing in the back of his mind, and he scours the shapes, the hues for his younger brother.

He feels bile forming in the back of his throat as he first finds the officer he came in withpressed up against the wall, blood staining his side. Yet the shallow, labored, pained breathing indicates his liveliness. Despite the knowledge, that little comfort, he still feels nauseous. If they don't get help, they won't last much longer. With an increasingly sickening pang, Alec hopes no one does come.

_Magnus would be among the rescue party._

With the growing threat of illness, Alec continues to search for Max, for any sign of him. He attempts to prop himself up from the carpet – when had he gotten on the floor? – and promptly falls back against it as a jolt springs from his knee and his head swims. It elicits a yelp from the man, and he squeezes his eyes closed, bites his lip to the point of tasting blood, and waits for the wave to pass.

_There are voices_ , he vaguely notices, but its implications don't dawn on him right away. Instead he's relishing the stable blackness behind his eyelids and tries to suppress the pain coursing throughout him. There are shouts, new voices, followed by muffled gunshots.

Then the cacophony of shattering glass breaks the monotonous sounds, forcing him to reluctantly open his eyes and assess the scene. With a fearful pang, one that rivals the searing pain in his knee, Alec notes his partner in the doorway, jaw set, complexion paled, gun lowering slowly. Behind him is the woman he split with, muttering rapidly into her radio.

_No, no, no. Jonathan is here_.

Nausea wets his mouth, and he forces it back down with a swallow.

_Where is Jonathan?_

Before he knows it, Magnus is at his side, muttering words that make no sense to Alec. Could they be Indonesian? It's his native language after all, and he tends to mutter to himself in it when he's stressed – which doesn't happen often. Perhaps it has some sort of calming agent to it. Now that he thinks of it, he's certain he'd be able to reassure himself better in English than in a hypothetical understanding of Indonesian.

"Alec."

He wonders if Magnus would be willing to teach him Indonesian. After all, it could be fairly useful, but, on the other hand, Alec wonders if it'd be a touchy subject for him.

Speaking of touchy, there's a strange weight shifting down his leg and –

Alec curses loudly as his knee springs into flames, clenching his eyes shut yet again and battling the urge to vomit tooth and nail. However the odor of copper infiltrates his nose and its metallic flavor invades his mouth, adding further to push him over that edge. He isn't sure how it happened, but he's on his back now, which worsens the throbbing he now realizes is present in his head. No wonder the room is so sickening.

"Alexander," the voice tries again, and Alec curses it away. It brought the pain to his knee – is still clutching it there – so he has to show it his complete and utter discontent.

"Alexander Lightwood," the sternness in his voice clicks somewhere in Alec's reeling mind, and he he dares to peek through the sliver of cracked eyelids.

That's right. Magnus is there.

"Max," he manages to croak through a dry mouth. Angel, he's thirsty. "How's Max?"

Magnus blinks, but anything else he does Alec doesn't catch; he closes his eyes lest he wishes his stomach to finally betray him. It's been threatening him enough.

"Don't worry about Max right now."

"Magnus…"

"Alexander, listen to me…"

"No! You listen to me!" Alec's eyes spring open, and he whips his head to better see his partner; that was a horrible mistake on his part as both the light and movement send him wheeling (or as much as he can laying down). Perhaps he should be lying on his side instead. He swears yet again.

"Don't move. You're most likely concussed, and you've been shot in the knee."

"Then Max."

Although he's sure he knows the answer at this point. Why would Magnus try so hard to keep from telling him? Why wouldn't someone be helping him?

Silence.

"… He was shot, wasn't he?"

More silence.

"Killed?"

As the sounds of footsteps thrum from nothing into a nearing roar, Alec turns and deposits his copper-infused breakfast on his father's bloodied rug – despite the excruciating protests from his knee, his head, and Magnus.

It's eerily quiet in Alec's pleasant, black world, contrasting to the hectic asylum it provided earlier. It's less tumultuous than the ride to Angel knows where, but thankfully something allowed Magnus to stay through the ordeal. Jonathan indeed hadn't gotten to him – although he's still out and at large – but at least…

_Max._

* * *

Alec's eyes shot open, stunning him with the sheer sterile _white_ of the walls, bringing his attention to the distinct scent of disinfectant.

He blinks once, twice, three times to force the rest of the room into view. It does so, but incredibly slowly. The colors twirl and meld, stabilizing and sharpening, and the bleached white sheets on his bed wrinkle into focus. It's exactly how he imagines a hospital room should look like.

Alec turns his gaze from the bed to the rest of the room. A television hangs, images are flashingnoiselessly across the screen; curtains are shoved to the side of some machinery; a window indicates it's sometime in the day, but Angel knows what time exactly; and to his left, occupying one of three chairs, sleeps his sister.

Alec shifts to sit up but hisses as a sharp pain shoots through his immobilized knee. That's right. Instead, he sinks back down onto his back and waits for it to subside, for the wave to flow away. It takes a moment for his knee to ease to a dull, muffled roar, one most likely induced by painkillers of some sort. He's surprised his head isn't throbbing, too, but he attributes that to some divine miracle. Or the same painkillers.

When Alec looks back over to Isabelle, he finds widened, brown eyes staring back at him, relief flooding them. "You're alive, _you jerk_! You had us all scared!"

"It's just a shot to the knee and probably a concussion…" It sounds strange paired with his voice. The sheer absurdity of being stranded in the hospital after such a confrontation is bizarre to him. This is something that happens in movies, to the most skilled and daring of the agents, and they were supposed to be more climactic. Not like this, and not result in the possible death of one of the good guys.

"Just!? Alexander Lightwood," he flinches, "we got a phone call ordering us to the hospital with no explanation except that there'd been an incident, and, when we got there, we were told you were undergoing surgery to fix that 'just shot' knee of yours, it needed reconstruction mind you, and actually did have a concussion; the one guy you were with was being treated for the bullet wound in his side; and Max…"

She's livid. The relief that that filled those brown eyes is replaced with frustration, with worry that had been building up for however long he'd been under, with emotions that need to pour out. Alec has nothing to say to comfort her; any questions or verification he may have had were answered or fled with her small tirade.

_Max is for sure dead._

He knows he'll hear it officially from someone sooner or later – Magnus avoided answering his question back at the Lightwood house, and Isabelle couldn't finish that phrase – and Alec desperately hopes for later. He can't face it, not yet, not when Max can still appear in the doorway. Not when he could've done something, acted faster, reacted smarter, done something _differently_ that could've spared them from this situation.

"And _Magnus_. I swear I've never seen that man like that before, and I didn't think he was _capable_." Isabelle shakes her head in disbelief.

Alec's confused. "What do you mean?"

She studies him, and he sinks under her gaze slightly. It's a scrutinizing, heavy look where he feels she's boring into him, searching him for something. What forhe isn't sure, but for something private, secret. "I've never seen him that worked up before. I'm kind of thankful we were in the hospital with him, otherwise who knows what could've happened. He nearly strangled a poor lunch lady in the cafeteria after a minor slip up that was his own fault, and then he didn't really eat his food. He never even said much either or do his usual touch ups. Even that's amazing because we had to drag him out of here to eat, and I had to shove him out to actually get some rest. I didn't even know that was possible with him."

Alec watches her as she speaks, lips tightening, eyes dropping, thoughts racing. "He was helpless."

"And he cares about you. Magnus was scared to death even though we knew you'd be okay." She rises to her feet. "I'll come back and see you later, but, now that we're talking about him, I should probably hunt him down and prove that you're awake before he terrorizes some poor nurse or doctor… And tell a doctor that you're awake. But! I _swear_ , if you ever try something like that again, there will be no hope for you."

With that lovely ending note Isabelle departs the room, mission under her feet, and leaves Alec alone.

* * *

There's a knock on the door that pulls Alec sharply from the flashing television, his blessed reprieve from the world word, and his eyes snap to the incoming woman. "Mr. Lightwood?"

"Alec," he corrects quickly, studying her deep tan skin, her dark brown hair pulled back in a tight bun, her long strides into the room and his file at the foot of his bed. "I prefer Alec."

" _Alec,_ " she starts, tugging a clipboard and some papers from it. She skims them, scribbles something, and turns her attention back to the patient. "I'm Dr. Jani, and I will be your primary doctor during your stay."

Dr. Jani. Got it.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been shot," he deadpans, but he receives a scolding look from her. Magnus probably would've appreciated the dry humor he just mustered. "My knee hurts, but my head surprisingly doesn't."

She nods, writes on the clipboard. "How would you rate the pain on a scale of one to ten?"

"Probably about a six."

"A six," she repeats, jots, and then looks back up at him. "Do you feel any other pain? Anything feel strange?"

Alec shakes his head. To be honest, no. Nothing else feels out of the ordinary, which in itself is kind of strange. Considering everything, he imagines there must be some sort of ground shattering difference, some sort of worldwide shift. But no. Everything's the same. Nothing's changed.

Except Max – who he should've been able to protect.

Except the other guy – who he shouldn't have endangered like that.

Except him – who probably deserves all this and should thank karma.

And Jonathan's still out there – who is probably laughing his blond head off.

"Alec," the voice urges him back toward the world continuing around him, the world that doesn't pause to give its inhabitants a moment's relief, a moment's solitude.

"Yes? Sorry?"

"We have to talk about that knee of yours."

Alec blinks, furrows his brows. He should have been expecting a conversation like this, but he can't seem to keep up with what's been happening within the past twenty four hours. Is it twenty four hours? "My knee?"

Dr. Jani nods solemnly, pulls the chair Isabelle was previously seated in next to his bed, and she rests the clipboard on her lap. "As you know, your knee was shot. When you got here, we found that the bullet did some significant damage – although not enough to warrant an amputation. That's sometimes necessary due to so many critical pieces in the knee." Her rising voice, the increasing pace of her speech, her changing register hint at nerves. Now that he gets a better look at her, she appears young; her features lack the wrinkles that many experienced medical visages don, her eyes still hold a glimmer of inexperience, and her anxiousness. She's still a fairly new doctor. "Luckily for you, the bullet missed some of those very vital parts of your knee, so we were able to reconstruct it and save your leg. Unfortunately for you, recovery will be a long and painful process. We can talk about that more when you have family or friends here." She's phenomenal at maintaining eye contact, which is an issue Alec has; he's currently watching his fingers fiddle with the sheets. "But there's something you need to know. You will be able to walk again, but not with the same mobility or ease as before."

Alec blinks up to her, confused. He'll berate himself for his lack of ability to connect the dots in the future to come. "What do you mean?"

She inhales sharply and sighs. "You'll leave the hospital with crutches, and you'll have to undergo physical therapy. It's unlikely you'll regain your full range of motion, and you'll probably have issues with pain and stiffness for the rest of your life. At some point you'll want to invest in a cane for bad days, and you'll still have a limp on good days."

Alec stares at her. _No, no, no._

"Then again, that's if things go according to how we predict." She shrugs. "It could always turn out better or worse."

He swallows a panicked lump, and she shifts in her chair. "Please know that we have an extensive support system at the hospital. We have professionals in both physical and psychological therapy, in religion, in whatever you may need. As your doctor, I'm also here to help you, and it seems like you have a very supportive family and friends. Remember you aren't alone, and there's always someone willing to help."

Alec's mouth feels dry suddenly, unable to work the clawing at his throat away, and his mind is empty of things to say. Although he's lucky enough to keep his leg, he's never going to experience the same mobility he's used to. Is he going to be demoted to some desk position? What about the case? So many questions, ones he can't voice, swarm his mind. He should've known a knee injury like that would limit him.

"Do you have any questions?" she's tentative now, likely off her mentally rehearsed speech. Alec notes that he likes her; she seems earnest and approachable.

"I… Not right now," is what Alec succeeds to say, and he bites his lip for a moment before speaking again. It feels weird against his strained vocal cords. "Can I ask you if I come up with any?"

Dr. Jani nods assuredly. "Of course. If you need anything, there's a button on your bed rail. A nurse will come in, but if you need me, just let them know."

He licks his lips, noticing how dry they were as well. He'll have to ask for some water at some point. "Great. Thank you."

Dr. Jani rises to her feet, deposits his file at in the folder at the end of his bed, and studies him a moment longer. "We'll give you something for the pain at dinner. It's better to take it with food."

Genuinely pleased at that _one_ tidbit of good news, Alec forces a small smile. If it keeps the pain dulled – if it even scaled it back a bit more – he would be happy. "Great. Thank you."

She smiles in return. "Remember, if you need me, let a nurse know, and I'll see you later, Alec."

Dr. Jani places her pen in her pocket and, as Magnus enters the room, she leaves. Talk about impeccable timing (or courtesy on Magnus's part), and Alec finds himself fiddling with the ungodly white sheets once again.

The ungodly white sheets that keep him strapped to the uncomfortable, restraining, confining, _cursed_ bed in the hellhole of a hospital. He gasps as he fights off a sob, fights back the clenching in his throat, combats the burning in his eyes, and represses his overwhelming emotion, shoving it back into the recesses of his jumbled mind. If it could stay there, stay until he can reorganize his thoughts, he may be able to somehow salvage his sanity. Angels knows that's one of the only things he has left at this point.

"Alec…" Magnus starts, sitting in that ever popular chair. _And him._

His voice pulls Alec from his mental fit, and he banishes a leaking wetness in his eyes with his palm. It's strange hearing Magnus at such a tentative loss for words, so it forces Alec's gaze up; it forces him to meet those stunning eyes. His breath hitches, but whether it's from his _foolish_ infatuation with the man, being caught in such a vulnerable predicament, or a mixture of the two he isn't sure.

But, if one thing's for certain, Isabelle was right. The eyeliner that usually surrounds those amazing eyes is smudged, faded, much like the eye shadow he apparently applied. His artfully perfected hair is a disheveled mess, and, now that Alec notices with a slight lurch in his stomach, most of his lip gloss (or whatever he put on that morning) is mostly licked away.

He somehow manages to swallow, raising his eyes to meet Magnus's once again.

Alec's voice is croaky, strained with the effects of the recent news, but he still manages a, "Hello, Magnus."

And, all at once, Magnus seems to deflate. The worry, anxiety, frustration, and whatever else may have apparently been lingering within the man vanished. A small smile tugs at his lips; a warmth sparks in his eyes.

"I see Dr. Jani got to you before I did," he recalls, watching Alec closely. The patient shifts under the gaze, turns his eyes back down to the sheets.

"She did. Nice woman. Did she tell you anything?"

He glances up fast enough to see Magnus hesitate before nodding. It figures. "She did. How are you managing?"

Alec exhales sharply, shrugs. "I'm not sure yet to be honest. There's too much to process at once." It's partial truth; the ramifications of the news have yet to sink in fully, so it's a dreamlike, distant awareness. Yet, at the same, he knows that it'll jeopardize his position in the case, it'll affect his near-future career, and who knows what else in the long run. It's in deprecating humor that he realizes the irony in the phrase "long run".

Magnus nods in understanding. "That's to be expected – a lot happened – but just make sure you focus on getting better. I can't have my partner out of commission for long. Who's going to keep me from going overboard?"

Something springs into a sudden, realistic clarity for Alec. "Magnus, I'm probably not going to be a field agent anymore." The fear grips his stomach, squeezes, and his expression turns fearful.

Magnus shakes his head. "Nonsense. You're a hell of an agent, and I'll fight for you. I wouldn't have anyone else."

Something's clawing at Alec's throat yet again, and he swallows at an attempt at discouraging it. It does very little to help. So he gives speaking a try, his voice scratchy and buzzing in his throat. "I… Uh… Thank you... But that still doesn't mean I'll stay on the case. They might not listen, and there are a lot of other –"

"Alexander," the name falls of Magnus's tongue smoothly, "listen to me. You're the only person I'm willing to work with, and I'll make that very clear to them. They can't lose me, Alec. I'm too valuable with what we're dealing with."

Alec snorts and rolls his eyes despite his anxiety, despite the fears surfacing, despite how increasingly real things are becoming. "If you say so, Mr. Modesty."

"Seriously," Magnus smiles slightly and reassuringly. "They wouldn't get rid of Agent Bane even if he requested so humbly the world!"

A small laugh escapes Alec despite his overwhelming urge to let his body take control, to succumb to an anguished-racked fit.

Then there's another silence, an odd, different sort of silence considering he's with Magnus, and he isn't sure what to do about it. So he drops his gaze once again to the sheer white of the sheets and his pale fingers entwined in it.

And then, before he can register what's happening, before he has a moment to react, he's engulfed in long, warm, sandalwood scented, protective arms. Alec's face is buried in a shoulder, he's bent in an awkward position, and he's trying to keep his knee from flaring up. Yet he feels comfortable; he feels safe; he closes his eyes and allows himself to be enveloped in the cozy comfort.

"And, just so you know," the words tickle against his ear, rustles his hair, "if you pull something like that again I'll confiscate your bow."

Alec's response is muffled into Magnus's shoulder. "It's back at home. I rented one when Jace and I went to the range. Good luck."

"You doubt me. I can always make a day trip back, and, remember, I do have friends back there."

Alec snorts, but does little to move. "I will sabotage your makeup collection."

"It's a small price to pay."

This prompts Alec to pull away, to give him a bewildered expression. "My bow probably isn't anywhere near as valuable as all of your makeup, and that says a lot."

Magnus settles him with a stern look, eyes forcing Alec's undivided attention, and he stares for a long moment. "But if it teaches you not to scare me like that again. My makeup for sanity and you!"

Alec laughs lightly, happy to have the action rippling through his torso, and smiles at his partner. "Drama queen."

"You know it," Magnus chirps, a smile cracking on his lips. He then pauses abruptly, as if light bulb suddenly illuminated some epiphany, and his smile grows. "Chartres."

Alec furrows his brows, smile faltering. "What?"

Magnus blinks as if brought back into the world, and then he positively grins. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Speaking of which, I do believe this is yours."

From seemingly nowhere – and Alec will wonder for years _really from where_ – Magnus procures his scarf, the one he left with the sheriff before heading into the house, the one Magnus gave him earlier. His newfound comfort blanket.

"Had to keep it safe, you know?" Magnus unravels the article and captures Alec with it. Alec reacts, startled, by pulling back against the cloth on his neck, and then he smiles. "I don't think I'll find another scarf like this, one that'll bring out those beautiful eyes so well."

Alec swallows, licks his lips, and fights for words. "Well, it's a good thing you kept it."

Magnus positively purrs. "I suppose it is, and it's practical."

Alec nods in response. "It is. It's very warm."

The other smirks. "That's not what I mean. I think it's time to say 'screw it'." And, with that, Alec's following questioning is curtailed by a swift tug to the scarf, his toppling forward again, and a sort of closeness he's only imagined with Magnus before; the unusually ruffled man's lips are against his own.

It's different than he'd been imagining, fantasizing, dreaming. How, Alec isn't sure. Magnus's lips are soft and warm, a sharp contrast to his own chapped and bitten lips; they remain there for a long moment, one that a taken aback Alec will come to wish no end to; Alec's eyelids flutter close. Butterflies flit around in his stomach, heating a flame that rises to illuminate his cheeks, one that'll lift him into a happy, otherworldly state.

When Magnus does pull back, a beam lighting up his demeanor, he watches Alec for yet another moment. Alec feels as though he should be self-conscious, but he doesn't. Instead he grins back, eyes crinkling around the edges, and pulls Magnus back for another kiss.

* * *

Alec's surprised at how tasty the pudding is. Normally he isn't such an avid fan of the weirdly creamy dessert, but _this._ _This_ is heaven in a portion cup; _this_ is the meaning of life; _this_ is what dreams are made of.

And he's fairly certain that, when it's completely gone, he'd trade the kisses with Magnus for another helping.

Well, maybe not, but he's in a hospital injured, so he's allowed to be a little uncharacteristically dramatic. Maybe it's Magnus rubbing off on him.

So he's mourning the loss of the extraordinarily scrumptious pudding when a new man walks into the room, no knock of warning or the like, and stops at the foot of his bed.

Alec peers up from the pudding cup and freezes. _It's his boss._

"Sir," Alec starts and straightens his back, all thoughts and sadness concerning the tragic disappearance of the dessert deserting him.

The man is rigid, hard, icy grey eyes weighing Alec down onto the bed, and calculating. "Agent Lightwood," he begins after a long moment. "Your partner, Agent Bane, is a tenacious one. He insisted you should remain on the case with him."

Alec swallows. His heart sinks as the man speaks. So it's happening after all. Maybe the man's playing a cruel trick on him, leading him one way only to swap directions at the very end. Maybe he'll tell him it'll be okay; he can stay on the case. He can stay with Magnus.

"However, I must resign you from the case. You are in no condition to continue it, considering your injury and recent loss, and we need completely able-bodied and sound of mind individuals conducting the field work. Please keep in mind that this is both for your safety and the safety of the agents involved."

Alec nods, pushing down a ball welling in his throat. It can't be. No, no, no. It can't be. Sure, he has a shot knee – in both senses of the phrase – but he's perfectly sound of mind. He's still capable.

"I have already informed Sheriff Starkweather. You'll be happy to know that I do have some good news, though."

Alec blinks at him but unable to say anything. His throat his rebelling, his mouth isn't working, the part of his brain responsible for producing something, anything to say blank.

"Provided you recover swiftly and adequately, Magnus and you will be partners again. He made it clear that'd be the only way he'd operate, and, to be honest, you two excel as a team. So, for his sake, I recommend you get well soon."

Alec nods silently, the man is studying him, calculating, probably plotting how to take whatever else Alec had away. _His brother, his knee, his case_.

Figuring it's probably better to leave, the man steps out of the room without a word more. So he comes in, drops a load of metaphorical bricks onto Alec in thirty seconds, and leaves.

It's almost cruel how quick everything can change, how anything and everything can be ripped away at once, how utterly _wicked_ the universe can be. He protests orders once, once, and gets things to go his way, and it goes awry. Max is killed because Jonathan sees it as a way of knocking them off kilter, and, during those stunned seconds after, demobilizes them. Those excruciatingly long seconds that ticked by muffled, slowed. In those seconds, those critical and few seconds, everything changed. He shakes his head, pushes that vague, blurry memory away. On the other hand, maybe it's something he has to learn from.

Maybe it's his fault Max is dead, his knee is incapacitated, Fred is somewhere else in this sterile prison, and Jonathan is Angel knows where.

So maybe it is a good thing he's no longer a part of this.

Maybe it's best left to Magnus and someone else to figure out what to do after all.

Maybe he is better at a desk job after all where no one is depending on him with their life, where things can go so horribly wrong.

Alec wipes away at his burning eyes, surprised by the wetness his hands brush away. _Even his own body's rebelling against him, unsatisfied with his command._ Fine, eyes, tear. Fine, throat, clench and ache with emotion. Fine, lungs, convulse with the intent of expelling any demons within him; it's not like they'll come out anyway. Fine, knee, throb with each jolt the sobs emit throughout his body, serving as a constant reminder.

It's almost cruel how, in a single day, he can go from confused to foreboding to elated to crushed by the world, by everything. It's almost cruel how life seems to be a rollercoaster he just can't get off, only hang on and hope he doesn't crash.

Then again, maybe he just experienced that fiery collision.

Alec looks to the doorway once more in the vain hope that Max would appear, that one casualty of the chaos is nothing more than a wicked joke.

* * *

Alec manages to convince Magnus to retrieve him some more pudding, because Angel knows that's what he needs most at the time. Isabelle and Jace, on the other hand, remain at his bedside, poking and prodding words at each other, making snide remarks, and being their typical self. It doesn't take long for Clary to join in uniform, visibly pleased to be off her feet and in a relaxed state.

He vaguely wonders if they sense it, too: the shift, the sudden _clarity_ that nothing is fixed, nothing is permanent, and that everything can slip away so _easily_. He wonders if they know that Jonathan is still out there. No, they have to. How couldn't they? They'd surely know if he were incarcerated.

And even if Jonathan were in jail, there's still the question of the Shadowhunters, the Downworlders, the Circle, the Clave, and whatever else there is. Are they really still out there? What does it mean in the grand scheme of things? What could possibly be happening in that world? Where's the FBI's place in it all?

Everything's changing, even if the eye can't see it, even if the perspective is blind. He'll have to find out what's happening, hopefully to prevent more unnecessary deaths like the ones they've been investigating. Deaths like Max…

And then it dawns on him. The people he needs to talk to, the people who know things, the people who owed him explanations long ago.

Mom, Dad, and Magnus. Speaking of which, where were his parents?

"Earth to Alec! Are you there?" the voice cuts through his thoughts, and he blinks rapidly, focusing on Isabelle. Her deep eyes are trained on him, brows furrowed in mild concern. They quickly fall back up to their resting position as Jace sighs dramatically.

"You know, if you don't wish to be blessed by our _gracious_ presence, you could have told us to leave." The mocking woe is laced in his voice.

"I think the only gracious presence here will be the return of Magnus with my pudding," Alec deadpans.

Jace scoffs. "You here that, Isabelle? We've been demoted to a new low! We're below _pudding_!" A sniffle.

"You know, I don't blame him. I think I'd prefer pudding to you anytime." Isabelle smirks. "I mean, Clary and I aren't so bad, but _you_."

"Excuse me, I'm an adored angel!" Jace looks downright affronted at such a baseless accusation.

Clary shrugs in her seat, reclined comfortably. "I'd have to agree with her. Sorry."

"I thought you loved me!"

Clary lazily looks at him. "It doesn't mean I can't think pudding is heaven's gift to mankind."

_The Pudding Wars_ , as Alec so eloquently dubs it, continues between the two romantics, and he turns to his sister. "Where are Mom and Dad?"

Isabelle's amusement of the squabble falters, and she runs a hand through those dark locks. "They're working out details for what's going to happen with Max. They need to set dates, talk to people, and plan," he wonders if she's intentionally being that vague. With the vagueness comes a sense of distance, of fantasy, of the possibility of Max hopping into the room and joining them. "They said they'll come to visit you tonight, and they're happy that you're conscious, but they need to take care of Max."

Alec smiles at her, although he isn't sure who he's trying to reassure most and for what. Her to show he isn't mad, her to show that it'll be alright, to show her he's sorry, to show himself he isn't upset, to show himself it isn't his fault, to show himself it's going to be okay, and the list continues. "Don't worry. I understand."

Isabelle returns the same smile as Clary and Jace continue to bicker in the background, as Magnus returns with the pudding, as they are reintegrated into the group musings.

They, however, don't stay for much longer. Alec pauses, hesitant, as he watches his troupe file out the room, pudding still untouched in his hands. Suddenly his voice betrays him, an increasingly common occurrence. "…Magnus?"

The man stops in the doorway, peers back with a curious, raised brow. "Yes, Alexander?"

His lips work, but his voice suddenly doesn't seem to want to produce anything anymore. It's rebellious, sounding when it wants toand not when it doesn't, completely disregarding his own needs. Since when has it become sentient?

He finally croaks, coughs to clear his throat, and tries again. "Could we talk? Could I ask you some things?"

Magnus's brows dip further together, but he nods and returns to Alec's bedside. "Anything. What do you need to know?"

Alec sucks in a breath, a deep inhale, before beginning ever so carefully. "I would like to ask you about your involvement with my parents before," his words are slow and meticulous, "and I would like to know what you know about the Downworlders and the Shadowhunters."

Magnus is eerily quiet, lips pressed into a thin line, and he sits. "I don't know if that's such a good idea..."

Alec stares at him incredulously, and suddenly the anger ignites in him like gasoline. "Not a good idea?! Max is dead, my knee was destroyed, now I'm off the case, and you're clearly hiding something from me! 'Not a good idea' would be not telling me whatever's going on!" He's leaning forward, leaning toward Magnus, and his knee's protesting, screaming with the fury. Not that it matters much; his anger, frustration, his pent up emotions are bursting.

"I don't know if you made a connection, or if you've coincidentally placed them together," he finally starts, "but there is a relationship there."

_Really?_ Alec's silent, but his blue gaze is prodding, unwavering, stubborn.

"Before we were partnered, back when I was still a rookie agent, I was one of the agents in a case dealing with the Shadowhunters and Downworlders. We thought they'd been long gone, destroyed, but we were wrong." Magnus shifts his gaze to his own hands as he speaks. "It was bloody, we had no idea what the scale of the issue was, and, by the time we had the situation partly under control, small factions long believed dead were gaining momentum again. We knew we wouldn't be able to take either side down – not yet – so we worked reconciliation and damage control. That's how I know your parents. They were once prominent Shadowhunter figures, but after their involvementin the Circle for some time, their reputation there had been severely compromised. Still they were useful tools in communicating with the Shadowhunters and gaining insight on the Circle."

"So…" Alec sounds, not tearing his eyes from the figure before him, "the Shadowhunters and Downworlders are still around," he lied to him about that, "my parents are in this," lie by omission, "you're involved in all this," another lie by omission, "and all of this is resurfacing in this case."

Magnus peers back up at Alec and nods. "That's pretty much it."

"So tell me," Alec continues, fingers tapping against the pudding cup, "how in the world did we get placed together? I mean, a Lightwood kid and someone who worked on that case." Then dawning flashes in his eyes, and he chuckles darkly. "It's so you could keep an eye on me, isn't it? Can't have him unsupervised, and who better than someone who's already very familiar with the situation."

"You make it sound harsher than it actually is. Yes, they initially put us together so I could watch you, but it became _quickly_ clear that you knew nothing of what happened, therefore had no involvement or association." Magnus's words are sharp, crisp, concise.

Alec raises his brows. "So why keep us paired, then?"

Magnus continues without hesitation, squaring Alec with a dark look. "Because I insisted. I liked you, and we worked well together. I wasn't up for another reassignment."

A sigh from Alec, but he plows forward shortly after. "And then the case assignment. Is there any coincidence that these murders turned out to be linked to the Shadowhunters and Downworlders, or that we were put on it?"

Magnus shakes his head. "No. They weren't sure, but they had their hunches. They put us on it because of my link, and they thought your Lightwood status would protect you. Obviously it didn't, and it didn't help your brother at all. There they miscalculated."

"They _miscalculated_?" Alec challenges, incredulous, the ebbing anger flaring yet again. "It has nothing to do with miscalculation! You said my family was involved in this before, so –"

"They thought that Lightwoods were safe because of what's left of their status in the Shadowhunter sphere. The Circle's been compromised for some time, but they're still useful in predicting what they might do next. They were wrong about your identity protecting you unlike the other victims, and both your brother and you paid for it."

"You're not listening to me! Magnus!" Alec's voice is tight, his throat constricting on him. "There's more to what happened than that! Yes, you lied to me both blatantly and through omission! Yes, I'm thoroughly _pissed_! However, _there's still more to what happened than what you're saying_."

There's more that happened in the house: there's his insistence on scouting the house and hunting down Jonathan, there are his errors in confrontation, there are flaws in the way he reacted to the attack, and maybe, just maybe, if he had reacted faster. Then again, everything happened so fast, so would he have been able to change anything? Or was he just incompetent? Maybe it was a mixture of everything?

_He shouldn't have challenged those orders, he shouldn't have gone through, and he should've thought faster when confronting Jonathan; he was definitely a responsible party._

"And, Alec, there's more to what happened than you know," Magnus replies, tone even, now leaning back in his chair.

Alec blinks at him, his brows nearing his hairline. "Then _tell me_."

"I… I don't know what I'm authorized to tell you, if I'm even allowed to tell you more, and I'm not sure what would be best to share yet."

Alec's stunned, silent for an abnormally long second, and then turns his attention to his pudding. His less than appealing pudding that does serve as a marvelous distraction. "Then get out."

"Alec –"

"I said get out. Now."

Magnus tries one more time, but Alec snaps his head up, his striking blue eyes sharp and enflamed. "Unless you want to explain the rest to me, you can get out of my room." Magnus is quiet, lips in a thin line, eyes hard. "And, please, don't come back until you're ready to _actually speak to me_. I'm not some delicate flower that needs protecting – just in case you were thinking of my apparent fragile state or my whole two years younger disadvantage or my Alec-ness." The world's narrowing into the present, his emotions, the situation at hand, the _words_.

"That's not what I was –"

"Then what?"

"What I can and should tell you are _confidential_ , and I need to make sure I can start with what's most relevant first."

"So you're telling me I was on a case I didn't have clearance to know about? What sort of logic is in that?"

"… Yes."

"Get out."

"Alec, please…"

For a split second Alec wonders if his anger is justified, if his frustrations are really from Magnus or if he's just serving as a target, and how much hurt the situation really warrants. Do intentions count in this situation? Does policy count?

He then realizes that he doesn't care. The release relieves a weight from his chest, a weight he knows will return tenfold that night, but he needs that reprieve. Is that selfish of him?

Again, he doesn't care.

"Get out."


End file.
